


Poison and Wine

by buttercup23



Series: The Harder They Fall [1]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alistair is adorable and awkward, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Intrigue, Multi Origin, Mystery, POV Multiple, POV Third Person, Plotty, Romance, Slow Build, With Elissa as Sherlock and Alistair as her Watson, Work In Progress, angsty, archetype--the brilliant detective, awkward moments abound, main character is emotionally clueless, some comedy mixed in with the angst, twisting canon into my subordinate
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-10
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2017-12-14 13:16:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 71
Words: 359,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/837301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttercup23/pseuds/buttercup23
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Wardens have always been warriors of exceptional ability, until Duncan recruits a noblewoman with a brilliant mind and no combat experience. Elissa will uncover conspiracies, lies, and secrets, and no friend or foe is immune to her observational skills. But she may learn that there are some secrets better left unknown. Slight AU campaign with cameos from other origins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elissa Cousland is unexpectedly attacked in her room in the middle of the night.

_Run fast for your mother run fast for your father_  
_Run for your children for your sisters and brothers_  
_Leave all your love and your longing behind, you_  
_Can't carry it with you if you want to survive_  
–Dog Days Are Over, Florence + the Machine

Elissa looked at her bloody hands, holding them up to her face in wide-eyed horror. She spread her fingers and the gore stretched between them like strings. _Gross_.

The body of a soldier lay at her feet. Blood dripped from the caverns that were once his eyes to pool on the stone floor of her bedroom.

She wiped her hands on her skirt. Her stomach heaved. _I did that._

A man screamed and a dog snarled before the sounds were replaced with a wet, ripping noise.

She fell to her knees and retched—heaving until there was nothing left but bile. Finally, the spasms stopped and she sat back on her heels and stared at the bloody comma marks now adorning the skirt of her once beautiful velvet gown. _I should change._

The sounds of another fight drifted to her, punctuated with a high pitched yelp that could only mean that her mabari was hurt.

The noise was like a slap to the face. What was she doing in here staring at her hands when Prince was out there killing himself to protect her? She dragged a sleeve across her face and stood, before running to the door.

Just as she got to it she froze. _Stop. Think._  Having a weapon was better than not...

She knelt and yanked the shield off the arm of the dead soldier, affixing it to her right arm before kneeling to pick his weapon off the floor. Her fingers were still slick with blood and so she dropped it; the sword clattered to the floor. She picked it up again and held it more firmly, surprised at how light it felt in her hand, and then tiptoed over another man's corpse. His throat was ravaged into an ugly gash.

_Good job, Prince._

She heard Prince yelp again and rushed out of the room in time to see her loyal hound charge two men at the other end of the Cousland family wing. They stood outside the closed door of her parents' bedroom. The momentum of Prince's charge bowled one of the men over, and they fell to the ground together. Prince snapped his powerful jaws trying to get at the man's neck, but the soldier got an armored arm between them. They rolled on the floor while the other man stood near by, sword poised to swing at the next opening.

Elissa's heart beat wildly in her chest. She sprinted forward to defend her mabari from mortal peril with no conscious thought of what she would do when she got there.

The other man was absorbed enough in the fight that he didn't hear her until she was almost upon him. He was too surprised to block the jabbing thrust she made at his throat with her sword.

It was only at this moment that she realized she had the weapon in her left hand, and the shield in her right—her dominant one. Instead of piercing the center of the man's throat the sword slid across it. Still, the blade was sharp and the aim was true enough to slice the throat open. He stumbled backward, lifting his hands to his throat and choking on bubbling blood.

She watched him die, frozen in place. _That's the second man I've killed in as many minutes,_ she thought, feeling numb.

Another yelp from Prince made her heart lurch. She turned in time to see the man fighting Prince stand. The dog lay still at his feet.

Her blood boiled with a sickening heat, white-hot and all consuming. " _No_!"

The man looked up at her with an angry sneer and leapt, swinging his sword.

Just in time, she lifted her shield and blocked the blow, stumbling under the force of it. She tried to take a step backward, but she tripped on her long gown and fell, landing painfully on the stone floor and dropping her sword. It clanged away out of reach.

The soldier was on her in a flash, and it was only her downward momentum and dumb luck that allowed her to bring up her shield in time to block the blow. The brute force of it reverberated painfully up her arm and shoulder and she cried out. She tried to raise the shield again but her arm wouldn't move without searing pain.

She must have seemed like easy prey—sprawled on the floor in her velvet gown, covered in blood. The man loomed over her and smirked, instantly recognizing the mismatch. He took his time lifting his sword for another blow.

Instinct took over. She grabbed her shield arm with her other hand and yanked it up and across. Moving it made her scream, and then the blow she blocked was mind-shatteringly painful. Elissa saw only white light for a few seconds, before coming back to life with the sound of blood rushing in her ears.

She was lying flat on the floor, completely unable to move. The man raised his sword for a final strike.

This was the end. The lack of choice offered a weird sort of peace and she accepted it. She closed her eyes—the only thing she could do to prepare for the final blow.

But it didn't come.

She opened her eyes. An arrow sprouted from the man's neck and he fell over, landing on top of her. _Thank the Maker._

"Elissa! I heard fighting outside and I feared the worst!"

 _Mother._ She looked up with a weak smile, heartened by the sight of her mother, resplendent in her leather armor. She hauled the lifeless body off Elissa, eyes widening when she saw the blood on her hands and dress. "Darling! Are you hurt?"

"No. Wait, yes. But this isn't my blood. It's my arm."

Her mother helped her get to a sitting position and then knelt by her. Gently, she lifted Elissa's right arm, careful not to jostle the shield.

She hissed in pain anyway. "It's my forearm."

"Probably a fracture," Eleanor said under her breath as she removed the shield. She gasped. "This is the seal of Amaranthine. These are Howe's men! Why would they attack us?"

"He attacks while our troops are gone."

"You don't think Howe's men were delayed . . . on purpose?"

"No. I don't think they were delayed at all. They were just camped nearby, waiting for the right moment to strike, obviously." She shook her head in mute anger for a moment before saying through clenched teeth, "I can't believe I didn't see this coming."

"Darling, not even you could predict this."

The words offered no comfort. She could have predicted this, perhaps, if she hadn't been so damned _distracted_ . . .

Her mother gasped again. "Have you seen your father? He never came to bed!"

"Where did you see him last?"

She raised her hand to her mouth. "He stayed up late, drinking with the Arl. Oh, _Maker_."

The white-hot, all-consuming rage threatened to return, but Elissa forced it back down. "Alright," she said with a scowl. "We need to find Father."

" _Andraste's mercy_! What if the soldiers went into your brother's room first?"

Her blood chilled. She had heard a woman's scream. With a clarity she despised, she knew without a doubt that her sister-in-law was dead. She couldn't keep this knowledge from her face. "I heard a woman scream . . ."

Eleanor's face crumpled. "No."

"Maybe Oren hid," she said, voice threatening to crack. "It's possible."

From the look on her face, she could tell that her mother saw the offering for what it was: slim, futile hope that would get them through the next moments, at least. "Let's go check, quickly. Then we'll look for Bryce downstairs."

With that, she stood and rushed to the door, flinging it open. In that brief moment, Elissa's heart flew to her throat. The hope that Oren was alive was too buoying for her to ignore, dangerous as it might be.

" _No!_ My little Oren! What manner of fiend slaughters innocents?!"

And just like that the hope was gone, leaving her emptier than the moment before it. _Alright, no more hope_ , she thought as she forced herself to rise from the floor and follow her mother into the room.

 _Oriana_. Elissa couldn't see the fatal wound, crumpled as her sister-in-law's body was on the bedroom rug, but she was deathly still, and surrounded in a wide pool of blood.

She knelt down, not caring that the blood soaked her skirts. Reaching out slowly, she touched the woman's neck with her fingertips. 

There was no sign of life. Another choked sob  broke the silence, and Elissa looked up to see her mother cradling Oren in her arms, rocking back and forth.

 _Howe did this._ "I will make him  _pay_ for this."

"He is not even taking hostages! He means to kill all of us!" Eleanor shook her head and gently laid the boy back down on the bedroom rug. "Oh, poor Fergus . . .let's go. I don't want to see this!"

Elissa closed her eyes and willed the rage back down. It was useful for spurring her into action, but now she needed to think . . .

A soft whine drifted to her ears from the hall. Hope sprung up in her chest, unbidden and unwanted. Nevertheless, she sprang to her feet and dashed out the door. "Prince!"

The mabari still lay in the same position by the bedroom door, but his eyes were open and in the span of a heartbeat she saw them move.

"Oh Prince!" she cried, collapsing in front of her dog. In spite of her earlier promise, she found herself surging with sudden hope. _If he lives, we might have a chance..._

"He's alive!" Eleanor was at her side.

Elissa took a deep breath and blinked away the water in her eyes. She needed to focus. "Yes," she said, catching her breath. "But we need to heal him."

"Wait here." Eleanor rushed back into the master bedroom.

She let out a breath and looked to Prince's wounds. He had a nasty looking slash across his chest and his breathing was shallow. He whined softly at her, and he shook under her hands as she pet him. She tried not to show the worry that was threatening to overcome her hope—Prince didn't need to see that.

Her mother appeared at her side, the faint red glow of a healing potion in her hand. "I only have one potion . . ."

"Give it to Prince."

"But, your arm is broken."

"Fractured, you said."

"I'm no healer, but you're my daughter, and as much as we might love him, Prince is just a dog—"

"He is not just a dog!"

Her mother's mouth set in a thin, grim line. "Elissa. This is no time for sentimentality—"

"It's not that. It's really not."

Eleanor started to respond and then stopped, searching her daughter's face. "What is it?"

It hurt a little to admit it. "Even with my arm healed, he's twice the fighter I am. You know that." Tears she'd only just quelled began prickling at the edges of her eyes. "Congratulations. You were right. I should have focused more on arms and combat. I'm sorry. I've let everyone down." She bent her head.

"Elissa, look at me." Eleanor took her gently by the chin and turned her face toward hers. "Good. Now listen. No amount of training can prepare you for this. None, you hear me?"

She blinked slowly, and then nodded.

"What matters is how you react. You may not know how to fight, but you are quick and you are clever and you have gotten this far."

Elissa took a deep breath, hearing the truth in her mother's words. They were alive—all three of them, and that was a fact she could cling to. "That's right," she said, trying to sound brave. "I'll just think up a way out of this."

"That's my clever pup. You have a plan, don't you? You always have a plan!"

She did her best not to sigh. "The first step," she said patiently and slowly. ". . . involves you giving the healing potion to the dog."

"Right. Alright, fine." Eleanor shook her head and knelt beside Prince, cradling his head. To Elissa's surprise, Prince eagerly lapped at the health potion as her mother tippid it into his mouth.

Now that Elissa had convinced her mother to save Prince the only thing she had left was worry. It was awful. She wanted to only worry for his sake, but the cold, sharp, practical region of her mind knew with a disturbing clarity that her survival depended on his.

The wound closed before their eyes. It remained red and angry looking, but the hound lifted his head and huffed at them.

Elissa gave a huff of her own as she let the breath out she didn't realize she was holding. "Thank the Maker!"

Even her mother couldn't help smiling when Prince got to his feet and started wagging his tail, licking Elissa's face and acting for the entire world like nothing ever happened. Elissa grinned and hugged the dog to her chest, more grateful than she could explain that her mabari was alive.

"What's your plan, Elissa?"

She looked up to see her mother staring fretfully down the darkened hall.

"Healing Prince was step one. I still haven't figured out step two . . ."

"Elissa!"

"Let's get in your room."

They entered the master bedroom and bolted the door. Elissa moved quickly over to the open chest along the wall, while her mother went to the bed and began pulling a sheet off it. She stared into the chest, hoping something inside would spark insight into a solution, but the pain in her arm and shoulder was mind numbing.

Eleanor was at her shoulder with a long swath of the bed sheet.

"Let's get that arm in a sling."

Her mother's hands were expert at this, and she wrapped her injured arm securely against her body. It hurt, but once the sling was in place the forced stillness helped to dull the pain a tiny bit.

"I saved a few drops." Her mother handed her the tiny healing vial. "Don't be upset."

Elissa felt only gratitude. She grabbed the vial and downed the last few drops. It wasn't much, but it lessened the pain enough to allow logical thought.

Screams, both awful and distant, reached their ears. Prince was on his feet and growling. Elissa put a finger to her lips and whispered, "Prince, silence."

He complied, and she was almost overwhelmed by the surge of gratitude and love she felt at his sudden and uncharacteristic obedience. "Good boy."

Her mother gave a worried hum. "The fighting is getting closer."

"Alright. Alright." Elissa's eyes searched the chest. She grabbed a dagger and set it on the ground beside her before she spotted a familiar contraption. It was made of metal, wood and an odd-shaped bottle. With a gasp, she lifted it.

"You saved this?"

Eleanor snorted. "Confiscated, if you recall," she said, and in spite of the dread situation, her mother smirked. "Too many innocent passersby were caught up in your prank war with Fergus."

She started chuckle, but then the images of Oren and Oriana's bodies sprang to her mind and her heartache was suddenly more intense. Fergus: how would they tell him?

She shook her head and placed the trap on the ground next to her, before retrieving a leather belt from the chest and attempting to wrap it around her waist. Her mother came over and helped her buckle the belt. In the distance, she heard screaming and the sound of metal ringing against metal.

"Can you hear the fighting? Howe's men must be everywhere," Eleanor said, sitting next to Elissa.

Elissa looked up and placed her good hand on her mother's shoulder. "Don't worry. I'll get us out of here," she said, trying to project a confidence she didn't exactly feel. "I have an idea, but it might be a bit. . . dangerous."

"My only grandchild is a ravaged corpse. What do I care about danger?"

 _I'm still here,_ Elissa thought, but didn't say. "Right." she said, fighting back tears. She picked up the grease trap, walked over to the door and put an ear against it. "I don't think they are in this hall yet," she whispered. "Wait here."

She didn't wait for her mother to protest before tucking the trap under her arm and slipping out the door and into the wide hall. She heard fighting in the distance, but no one had entered this wing just yet. She quickly rushed to the entrance of the large hall and knelt to place the grease trap on the ground, at the top of the hallway that sloped down to the lower level of the castle.

A sudden shout sounded much closer, and Elissa realized as she looked up that she'd been spotted. A group of men started running up the hallway toward her.

She finished arming the trap with one hand, and then turned to run back to the room. Her mother stood in the doorway of her bedroom and Prince lunged out past her and into the hall, barking viciously.

"Move!" Eleanor cried as she brought up her bow and notched an arrow in it.

"Prince, hold!" Elissa shouted in command

Prince charged past her, not hesitating at all. He dashed down the hall toward the grease trap.

Fear almost closed her throat. _If he trips it first . ._ .

She took a deep breath and shouted in the loudest, deepest, most _this-means-business_ voice she could muster, "Prince, to me, now!"

The incorrigible hound listened for once! He skidded to a stop right before reaching the trap. He stood there and barked at the men approaching.

"Here! NOW!"

Finally the stubborn dog ran back to her. She grabbed a torch off the wall just as rest of the men got to the top of the ramp. One of them tripped the trap and the bottle exploded—a thick slippery substance splattered around them and two men in front went down, hard. The three behind them slid but kept their feet.

With a running step for momentum, Elissa tossed the torch over Prince's head and into the center of the group of men.

The oil ignited in a violent _whoosh_. The two men on the ground were quickly consumed in flames, and they screamed in terrible agony. Elissa stumbled backward, trying to get away from the sudden heat as the fire took off, igniting the men still on their feet.

Prince danced around her, barking maniacally. Eleanor ran up and shot one of the standing men. The arrow landed in his throat and he went down into the flames. She quickly shot two more arrows, felling the rest of the men.

One of the first men to fall somehow managed to get to his feet, and came stumbling toward Elissa.

"Get back!" Eleanor screamed as the man lunged. Her mother shot him with another arrow but the man, mad with pain and fear, didn't stop.

Elissa stumbled backward. The man fell forward, and one flaming hand touched the bottom of her blood-stained skirt. It was so wet that it didn't ignite immediately, but smoldered at the bottom.

Elissa froze, staring at the orange glowing line that slowly crept up her skirt.

She snapped back to reality when her mother tackled her, knocking her to the ground and beating the fire out of her skirts with a wall tapestry. Finally convinced that the flames were out, Eleanor stopped and the two women slumped together.

"Maker's blood," Eleanor said. There were five bodies writhing in flames before them. They sat there and watched them until they finally stopped moving.

Relief washed over Elissa in spite of the horror. _That's seven._ Seven men she had managed to kill in the span of—she realized she had no idea how much time had passed—so much happened at once. But miraculously, she was still alive.

"I know, right?" she said, and then grabbed her mother's arm. "And for my next trick . . ." she waggled her eyebrows at her mother and then led her into the guest bedroom next to her own. Prince finally stopped barking and joined them.

A stone tub abutted the back wall. Elissa hiked up the ruins of her skirt to climb the steps into it.

"What in the world are you doing?"

Elissa stared at the wall and bit her lip, trying to remember. "There's a secret passage here to the study," she said, reaching out tentatively to push on a stone in the upper right corner of the wall. It gave slightly and she smiled to herself, confident that she remembered the combination.

"A secret passage? How is it that you know about this when I do not?"

Elissa pushed another couple of stones and then the wall slid away with a rumble. At her mother's gasp, she turned around and grinned. "I thought you vowed to stop asking that question?" she said, before climbing into the passage and holding out a hand. "Now, come on! Let's go find father."

With a shake of her head Eleanor took her daughter's hand and let Elissa lead her into the darkness.


	2. Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elissa and her mother make their way through the castle. Duncan makes Elissa a surprising offer.

_Who will love you?_  
_Who will fight?_  
_Who will fall far far behind?_  
–Skinny Love, Bon Iver

"I should have changed," Elissa said, for the umpteenth time.

Her mother lifted a chain mail chest piece over her shoulders and she shrugged it on. They'd found more health potions in the treasury, so her arm and shoulder were mostly fine now, but she would likely end up with some severe bruising.

She snorted, imagining how that would add to her appearance. She almost wanted a mirror, just to see how ridiculous she must look. Her hair hung down her back in a ragged gold river spattered with blood. She still wore the velvet gown, though it was singed and blood-stained.

Their trip to the study and the library beyond had further revealed the brutality of the Arl's attack. Howe's soldiers spared no one—not the poor elven servants in their beds, not the aged old tutor Aldous, and not even poor Mother Mallol.

Elissa couldn't begin to comprehend the evil behind this, but the cold, sharp part of her mind that was working overtime to keep them all alive told her she didn't need to. She need only focus on surviving each moment, praying that insight would come when she needed it, and hoping that her mother and Prince could do her fighting for her.

"Wait," Eleanor said, pulling at her daughter's arm. Her face was somber, but determined. "Listen, darling, we haven't much time. If we can't find your father, you must get out of here alive. Without you and Fergus, the entire Cousland line dies here. If Howe's men are inside, they must already control the castle. We must use the servants' entry in the larder to escape. Do you hear me?"

Escape. It had come to that then. Elissa knew her mother spoke the truth. The castle had fallen, they couldn't retake it themselves. They needed to get out—they needed to survive. They all did. Placing the Shield of Highever on her back and sheathing the Cousland family sword at her hip had a disturbing finality to it. “Yes, mother.”

She and her mother followed the trail of blood out of the treasury and through the halls of the castle. When they approached the Great Hall, they could hear the sounds of battle from within. Eleanor and Elissa spared a look at each other before rushing inside.

The Cousland guards were engaged in a pitched battle with Howe's forces in side the castle’s largest room. No one noticed their entrance. Eleanor slipped behind a pillar and started firing while Elissa scrambled to find cover behind a table. Prince barked and dove into the fray, taking down the nearest enemy soldier from behind.

_Good boy._

A flash of lightning struck several Cousland guards at once and they jerked backward, the smell of sulfur suddenly thick in Elissa's nostrils.

_A mage!_

There, by the front doors—a slight woman in blue robes holding a staff. Elissa ducked just in time to avoid another bolt of lightning.

Her heart thrummed in her chest. That mage was going to turn the tide for Howe's men if someone didn't do something fast. But what could she do? She was no mage, and could barely fight. Her archery training helped her win tournaments, but it left her woefully unprepared for the realities of live combat.

She peeked out behind the table. The mage seemed to have an aura around her, and none of the Cousland guards could get close. Elissa searched frantically for her mother, but she was on the other side of the hall now, actually fighting with her daggers —and holding her own!— against a man twice her size. In spite of her fear, Elissa felt a swell of pride. She forced herself to trust that Eleanor could take care of herself for a few moments while she turned her attention back to the mage.

_Think!_

She stared at the mage again, and saw that the woman stood still, waving her arms in an intricate pattern—clearly preparing to cast something.

And then it hit her—the mage stood  _still_.

She could do this!

She cast her gaze around the hall before spotting what she needed: one of Howe's archers lay sprawled in front of a large fireplace. She dashed toward him, and then yanked the bow out of the corpse's hands before flipping the body over with her foot to get at the quiver at his back.

She heard a whooshing sound, and when she turned she saw a flash of light and smelled sulfur again. Two more Cousland guards went down.

Elissa hopped up on a nearby chair. It was risky, exposing herself like this, but she needed a good vantage point over the heads of the fighting men. She notched the arrow and took aim, closing one eye and sighting down the arrow.

She breathed in. She exhaled.

She let the arrow fly.

It flew, straight and true to the mage, landing in the woman's left eye. Her head jerked back, and she fell over, dead.

Elissa felt pure and simple elation as the guards cheered. Her feat inspired them to rally, and they quickly dispatched the rest of Howe's men. Elissa ran to her mother just as Eleanor yanked her dagger out of the corpse in front of her.

And then Elissa heard him.

"Go! Man the gate! Keep those bastards out as long as you can!"

She turned to the voice. There in the center of the hall stood a handsome, red-haired knight. She wanted to weep with relief.  _Rory_. Their eyes caught and she saw what had to be a mirror of her own expression on his face.

"My lady! You're alive.” He looked at her with open-hearted devotion in his beautiful green eyes. “I was certain Howe's men had gotten through!"

Elissa couldn't stop the tears from falling. "Rory . . . I. . ."

"Shh," he said, walking toward her. He reached out to touch his hand to her chin. "It's alright—"

"Ser Gilmore!" Elissa's mother rushed toward them.

Rory looked up at the Teyrna and snapped his hand back "Your Ladyship! I'm so relieved you're both alive."

Elissa wanted to laugh at the absurdity. Who cared about decorum now? But that was Rory . . . honorable and chivalrous to the end.

Her mother was curt. "Have you seen the Teyrn?"

Rory nodded. "He was looking for you two. He told us to hold the hall as long as possible. When I realized what was happening, it was all I could do to shut the gates. But they won't keep Howe's men out long! If you've another way out of the castle, use it quickly!"

Eleanor turned to Elissa. "Let's go. We must make it to the servant's entrance and escape."

Elissa couldn’t tear her gaze away from Rory’s eyes. The look in them filled her chest with dread. "Come, Ser Gilmore.” She tried to make it sound like a command, but her nerves failed her and her voice cracked. “You can see us out of the castle."

Rory stared at her sadly. He spared a glance at the Teyrna and then . . . then he stepped right up to her and reached up to brush his fingers against her cheek. "If I do that, you won't make it out before the gates fall."

Overwhelmed by his boldness and the touch of his fingers on her cheek, the horror of his words didn't sink in for a few moments. But the look on his face was devastating. Finally she realized what he must have meant. She looked at him in horror. "No . . ."

Her mother put her hand on her arm. "Elissa, we must go now. . ."

She ignored her mother and searched Rory's face for some sign of hope, but she saw only grim determination there. And that other thing between them. "Rory, no."

She wanted to say something else but there was simply nothing she could say. How could she sum up a lifetime of unfulfilled wishes and longing? How could she thank someone for this?

There was far, far too much to say.

"Elissa, I—" he started.

She didn't let him finish. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him for the first and last time, in front of her mother and everyone else.  _Sod decorum. Sod everything._

He hesitated for one horrible moment, and Elissa had a wild fear that she'd imagined everything . . . but then he did respond—tentatively at first, but with growing passion. His lips were softer than she could have imagined. Why did she wait so long to do this? New waves of regret crashed into her and she couldn't stop herself from breaking the kiss with a sob. They had already said goodbye once tonight . But now . . .

"Please," she whispered. "Please come with me."

"I can't," he whispered back, resting his forehead against hers. "I have a duty here. I will fulfill it."

Elissa tried to cling to him, but he gently removed her hands from his neck, not breaking eye contact as he took a step back.

She didn't have the strength to hold on. She knew she couldn't talk him out of this. She could only . . .

_You can only make this moment worse for him by falling apart now._

She knew the voice was right, but she didn't have it in her to fight the choking sobs that were rising in her chest. _Maker, I am falling apart._

"Bless you, Ser Gilmore," she heard her mother say. "Maker watch over you!"

Elissa wailed as her mother dragged her by the arm away from Rory. This was too much. Too much.

"Maker watch over us all," she heard Rory say she was pulled along by her mother, too heartbroken to protest.

* * *

Elissa was out of plans—completely out of tricks. She couldn't think, wasn't even aware of what was going on around her anymore. She only knew pain, and loss and anger and overwhelming despair.

In such a short amount of time, she had lost everything.

She listened in mute horror as her father negotiated for their lives with the Grey Warden Commander of Ferelden. It was all too absurd to be true. Maybe this was a nightmare after all—a perfectly vivid, terrible nightmare.

"I came to your castle seeking a recruit," Duncan said to her father. "The darkspawn threat demands that I leave with one."

Elissa had thought the man would demand money, or some other type of boon from the powerful Teyrn. But a recruit? They could offer that. Hope flickered dangerously in her heart. "Ser Gilmore! He's alive. We left him at the front gates. We can go back and get him—"

"There's no time for that!" her mother said.

Duncan raised his hands to cut off their argument. "I'm not talking about Ser Gilmore, Elissa. I'm talking about you."

She was speechless.  _Me_? Elissa sat back on her heels and stared at him.

Duncan gave her a small, knowing smile. "Truthfully, you were always my first choice."

 _First choice?_  Elissa's eyes felt like they were going to bulge out of her skull. This was . . . completely unexpected.

Duncan turned back to Elissa's father. "I will take the Teyrna and your daughter to Ostagar, to tell Fergus and the king what happened. Then, your daughter joins the Grey Wardens."

Her father looked grim. "So long as justice comes to Howe . . . I agree."

Duncan turned to her. "Then I offer you a place within the Grey Wardens. Fight with us."

This couldn't be happening. Why in the world did he want her? She looked at her mother and father. Did he think she was some kind of warrior simply because she was a Cousland?

She opened her mouth to tell him no, he had to be mistaken. He didn't really want someone who couldn't even fight as a recruit—but then she snapped her mouth shut. If the castle were surrounded, they would have little chance of escaping, even with Prince to fight for her. Duncan could get them out, but would he bother if he knew she wasn't Grey Warden material?

Her father coughed. "Howe thinks he'll use the chaos to . . . advance himself. Make him wrong, pup. See that justice is done! Our family . . . always does our duty first. The darkspawn must be defeated. You must go. For your own sake, and for Ferelden's."

Elissa's chest felt leaden. She had no choice. She was trapped. "I will, Father. For you."

He looked at her proudly.

"We must leave quickly, then," Duncan said. They all heard a loud crash in the distance. Howe's men were through the front doors.

Elissa choked out a sob.  _Rory_.

Eleanor reached out to her husband. "Bryce, are you . . . sure?

"Our daughter will not die of Howe's treachery. She will live, and make her mark on the world."

"Darling, go with Duncan," her mother said, keeping her eyes on her father's face. "You have a better chance to escape without me."

Elissa's mouth gaped open again. Her mind wasn't reeling anymore—it had come to a screeching stop.

"Eleanor . . ."

"Hush, Bryce. I'll kill every bastard that comes through that door to buy them time. But I won't abandon you."

"Mother! No!" Elissa screamed, finding her voice at last. "Please don't do this to me! I've lost everyone else . . . Mother, please, we can find can find another way. We can fight—"

"So we all die?" Eleanor cut her off and grabbed her shoulders. She looked her daughter sternly. "No. Your place is now with the Grey Wardens. Mine is with your father. At his side, to death and beyond."

"But Mother, I can't . . ."

"Yes, you can. You are smart and capable and you will get through this, you hear me?" She grabbed Elissa's chin again and gave her a smile, blinking back tears.

Elissa looked into her mother's proud, loving eyes. What could she do but agree? "Yes, mother."

"That is my darling girl."

She embraced her, trying to remember every detail—the smell of her scented hair mingled with her leather armor, the feel of her strong arms around her. She looked at her father and then reached out to him, giving him one last embrace as well, the three of them huddled on the stone floor.

She felt a warm hand on her shoulder. "They've broken through the gates. We must leave now," Duncan said.

It hurt to leave her parents' embrace. She slid out of their grasp and then stood.

Prince whined at her. She placed a hand on his head and then turned to follow Duncan out the exit.

She couldn't stop herself from looking back one last time to see her mother kneeling, holding her father's head in her hands. She tried to burn the image into her mind. She wanted to remember this moment forever. She wanted to honor their sacrifice by searing it into her very soul.

Her father looked up and met her gaze. "Go, pup," he said with that impossible gentleness of his. "Warn your brother. And know that we love you both. You do us proud."

"Good bye, darling," her mother said.

"I love you both, so much," she choked out, before turning and following Duncan into the unknown darkness of her future.


	3. Blame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the way to Ostagar Elissa has a revealing conversation with Duncan.

_She can't see the landscape anymore  
__It's all painted in her grief  
__All of her history etched out at her feet_  
Landscape — Florence + the Machine

She would little remember the details of her flight from Highever with Duncan in later days. When she thought back on her time spent marching after him for hours upon hours, crying all the while, she'd remember how her legs ached, how uncomfortable she'd been in her heavy dress and chain mail, and how her arm had throbbed in pain with every step.

But where they went? What she saw? She didn't know. She followed Duncan. She saw nothing. Nothing mattered.

All she did was feel—an enormity of pain beyond any misery she had ever experienced or imagined. Unlike other times in her life when tears had proved cathartic, now they simply replenished themselves with every wail. Her grief was an endless well inside her, and no matter how much she cried she couldn't rid herself of the ache that permeated her every waking hour.

Thankfully the pace Duncan set afforded her nights of unbroken sleep. Only in sleep and during the few seconds at the start of each day, when she would wake bleary eyed and confused, did she have any relief from the constant misery. Every morning it was just the same. She would envy the person she'd been just a few moments before because now she was a person that remembered, and the memories only restarted the pain.

When the sharpness of her agony dulled to the horrifying images she replayed in her mind every second she was awake ( _Oren's broken little body, Rory's sad eyes, her father's blood on the pantry floor_ ) she turned to torturing herself with details from the day leading up to the attack. Details she had missed.

No, not missed— _ignored_. That was even worse.

She chastised herself for not connecting the shifty stares of Howe's guards with the Arl's flimsy excuse for tardiness. He hadn't even really offered one, she remembered bitterly. And that should have sparked her curiosity.

Guilt—now that was a weapon sharper than any sadness. She wielded it against herself ruthlessly as she followed Duncan across the bannorn. By the time he mentioned that they would arrive at Ostagar on the following day, Elissa had thoroughly traced the web of clues that should have given her ample warning that a betrayal was imminent. She could have stopped it, if she had been paying attention.

But Duncan's announcement provided a nugget for another line of inquiry, and finally tired with the painfully circuitous route of her thoughts, she decided to follow it. It led nowhere pleasant.  _Ostagar_.

She would have to see Fergus. And tell him . . . _no_. Elissa couldn't bring herself to think about  _that_. It would only lead to more weeping, she was sure of it.

And then she remembered the other thing that had started to gnaw at the edges of her consciousness—that other promise she had made. The Grey Wardens were expecting her to become one. This was an attractive puzzle to solve because she could think about it disinterestedly. It only involved her future, after all. And what did she care about that?

She wondered what Duncan would do when he discovered that she was no warrior. Perhaps he would be angry? This line of thinking proved intriguing enough that Elissa felt something closer to normal while she thought about it. She found herself imagining all sorts of reactions from Duncan at the news.

 _Perhaps he'll kill me_ , she mused. The thought didn't scare her like it should have. In fact, there was a part of her that felt a shameful longing at the prospect. She would be released if that happened—released from her pain, her guilt.

But she couldn't long for it in earnest. Not because she didn't think Duncan capable of it—she thought everyone capable of it, now. And not because she didn't think she deserved it. The deal was her life for her service. If she couldn't serve, she really didn't deserve her life.

No, she couldn't long for it in earnest because that would mean that Fergus would be truly alone. She knew now something that she would have never guessed a few days ago: dying was easy. It was being left behind that was hard.

But she didn't want to think about Fergus. So she abandoned the idea and moved on to other possibilities. She thought he might continue to escort her to Ostagar, where she could make some other arrangement or deal to repay him. Perhaps Fergus had enough coin on him to reward the warden for rescuing her. She thought that fairly likely.

Elissa frowned to herself.  _Unless..._

There was another intriguing possibility, and finally after a long day of pondering, the mystery drove her to speak. "Duncan," she croaked. "We need to speak."

It was the first sentence she had uttered in days, but if Duncan was surprised by her sudden speech, he didn't show it. He looked up at her placidly before turning back to the small campfire he tended, stoking it with a stick.

"Yes?"

She didn't have it within her to provide much polite preamble. "I don't know how to fight."

She waited for him to respond, but he didn't. Just merely raised his eyebrows and looked at her expectantly.

She frowned at him. "Do you understand? I'm not a warrior. I'm not sure what you've heard or what you expected of me but . . . that's not who I am."

Duncan sat back against a tree log, with his hands on his knees. The light was fading and the firelight cast his face in shadows. Elissa couldn't read his expression. "I see."

She realized that she should probably offer more explanation, but just the thought of it exhausted her. "I'm sorry," was all she managed to mumble.

Duncan watched her in silence for a moment that seemed to stretch on and on. Finally, he spoke. "There is no need to apologize. This changes nothing. You will go to Ostagar and become a Grey Warden."

Elissa stared at Duncan in surprise. He just gazed into the fire, face inscrutable. "You know about me." It was a statement, not a question.

"If by that you mean that I know you're no warrior, yes."

"No, that is  _not_  what I mean."

Duncan looked up in surprise at her tone, and then smiled. He slowly put his hands together under his chin. "Ahh. You mean do I know about your mind—"

Elissa snorted derisively. "Being smart doesn't help you kill darkspawn."

"I think that could be argued."

"You're going to get me killed."  _Not that I care..._

"How many men did you kill that night at the castle?"

Elissa shook her head and looked off into the distance. "That doesn't count."

"Why not?"

She gave an exasperated sigh and turned back to look at Duncan. "I got lucky _—"_

"How many?"

 _Seven men and one woman._ "I don't know. I lost count."

She couldn't make out his expression in the dark. He paused for a few moments, before speaking in a quiet but firm voice. "You have a brilliant mind, Elissa. You're ingenious and clever and clearly resourceful. With little to no combat training you managed to fight your way through a castle full of hostile forces, and you did not hesitate to kill when it meant your life."

She felt suddenly sick to her stomach, feeling the soldier's eyes give way to her fingers all over again. "I'm not cut out for this," she said softly.

"How many days have we been traveling now?"

"I have no idea." She literally did not. It could have been two. It could have been twelve.

"Five days now," Duncan supplied, holding up one hand with his fingers spread. "And in that time, we have kept to a merciless pace. I don't think there are many civilians who could have kept up with the march we've been on and yet you've done it all with no complaints."

Elissa raised her eyebrows. Apparently all that running with Prince had paid off. Still, she was loathe to admit it to Duncan. "A lady doesn't complain—"

"The fact that you did it at all is what is remarkable. I have little doubt that you will adapt quite well to the life of a Grey Warden." He leaned forward then, and the light of the fire illuminated a sympathetic expression. "I know that it may not seem like it now, but in time, you may even begin to find it a life worth living."

She looked away, unable to meet his gaze. The thought of a life worth living . . . that was so far beyond anything she felt capable of—certainly beyond anything she  _deserved_ —the idea of it only brought back the sadness of all that she had lost, and it was worse now for having left her for a time.

Why did she care? She didn't. It didn't matter. She would probably die to the first darkspawn that she fought, and that would be fine.

Ignoring Duncan, she curled into a ball on the ground and tried to sleep.

* * *

Sleep came easily, as it did every night on her journey so far, but she awoke while it was still dark. Duncan sat by the fire, but the embers didn't give enough light for her to tell whether he slept or not. She wasn't sure that he slept at all on their journey. She hadn't seen it.

She shifted to her side, drawing her knees up to her chest and her arm around her legs. She stared at the still form of Duncan.

_Truthfully you were always my first choice._

Elissa's brow knit together into a frown. She had been so focused on whether he knew about her combat ability. She'd never thought to ask the most obvious question of all: _Why?_

Why was she not just Grey Warden material, but his first choice?

The Wardens had been fighting darkspawn for centuries. Elissa was pretty sure they knew how to do it by now. So what did Duncan need her big brain for anyway?

She lay there, staring into the orange coals for a long while.

The real reasons for her recruitment were still a mystery to her, and that proved somewhat interesting. She supposed she'd have to endeavor to stay alive long enough to figure it out.

Once she decided that, sleep came easily and she did not wake until the next day dawned.


	4. Question

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The new recruit Duncan brings back from Highever is nothing like Alistair expected.

_I think I know_ _another lonely exile when I see one  
_ _and you appear to be one_  
– Ray, Aimee Mann

 _I can't tell these shems apart,_  Pick worried, as he darted through the camp. _The fact that they all wear the same bloody armor certainly doesn't help._

He spotted a Chantry symbol on the shield of a man standing by the merchant stall and skidded to a halt on the dirt path.

_The warden._

He hesitated only a second before dashing over. He really, really, needed to get the stupid sword delivered to Ser Galvin, but he had an equally important message to deliver.

"Hey,  _you_ ," he called when he got close, mentally cursing himself for forgetting the shem's name. He needed to get better at that if he was going to make it as a court messenger.

The blonde man turned away from his conversation and grinned at him. "Pick!" 

That made him feel even worse. "Gotta message for you from your Commander," Pick said.

The warden's eyebrows shot up. "Duncan's back?"

"Yeah, he's back, and he wants you to be on the lookout for his new recruit."

He turned on his heel to go, but the human warden called after him. "Wait a minute! How am I supposed to look out for him? What's his name?" 

"Not a he,  _she._ And you'll know her when you see her,  _trust_  me." With a smirk, he turned to leave again.

" _Wait_ ," the warden said, grabbing his arm. "Can you at least give me a name?"

The shem in leathers gave a little snort of laughter. Pick scowled at him. "Eliza," he spat out. "Cousline."

At that, the warden's eyes went wide. "You mean Cousland?"

Pick hopped from one leg to the other, anxious to get on with his task. "Yeah, whatever. Cousland. Can I go?"

"Is there anything else? What did Duncan want me to do? Why did he recruit a  _Cousland_?"

Pick shrugged. "Probably something on account of Highever being attacked."

The doughy looking one with the giant sword strapped to his back gasped loudly. "Highever's been attacked? By who? Tell me at once!"

Pick took a step back and raised his arms. "Easy!" he squeaked out. Thankfully, the warden put a hand on the man's shoulder to settle him down. "Not Highever proper," Pick amended. "Just the castle. By Arl Who."

" _Who_?" the warden said incredulously. "You don't mean... you don't mean by Arl Howe do you?"

"Oh yeah, that's it!" Pick said, snapping his fingers. "I knew it was something like that. Who or what or how."

He felt a blush creep up his cheeks as the three men stared at him in silent shock. Finally, the brown-haired man with the scruffy beard gave a barking laugh. "You have got to be the worst messenger I have ever seen."

"I'm just not good with names," Pick snapped. He turned to the warden with a scowl. "Can I go?"

The warden gave an absentminded wave, before turning back to the other men. "Yeah, sure."

Pick let out a sigh of relief and raced away, hoping he could find Ser Galvin and finally get rid of this blasted sword.

 _That was all there was to tell, wasn't it?_  There was something nudging him at the edge of his memory, but it was just too hard, keeping all the messages in his head for people. He really should start writing things down.

_Maybe I really am a terrible messenger._

* * *

"You know, one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together."

Alistair turned to face the figure that had wandered up to him while he argued with the pissy mage. His mouth fell open.

It was a girl standing before him—a girl with dark eyebrows pulled down over large, green eyes. A girl with long, blonde hair tied into a ragged braid that draped over one shoulder. A girl who wore a shiny chain mail vest over what appeared to be a rather abused but fancy green  _ball gown._

When she spoke, her refinded accent identified her as a highborn woman. "Your Templar abilities—can you teach them to others?" 

He did a literal double take. "I'm sorry. What? How did you—"

"Your shield bears the crest of the Chantry does it not? You used to be a Templar."

He cocked an eyebrow. " _Used_ to?" 

She shrugged and gave a faint smile. The one working part of his brain registered that she really was kind of pretty. "If you were still a Templar I doubt the mage would have dared to be quite so insolent."

Alistair looked to where the mage had walked off, and then back at the girl, before smiling. "Alright, what next? Are you going to guess my birth date and weight?" He crossed his arms across his chest. "I hope you don't make me feel fat."

Her smile fled at his attempt at humor. She frowned and looked away, as if trying to reign in her temper, before looking back at him. "So, can you or can't you?"

Alistair blinked. "Can I...?"

She gave an impatient huff and actually stamped her foot. "Can you train others to be a Templar or can't you?"

"Oh right," he said, not sure whether to laugh or be offended at her weird impatience "Um, how about we start off with... " He was going to say 'who you are' but his lips froze in place as he gave her a once over again, putting a bunch of pieces together at once. The state of her dress, her noble bearing: she could only be one person. "Wait a minute. I do know who you are. You're Duncan's new recruit, from Highever, aren't you?"

She froze then and gave a slight nod, casting her gaze downward.

Alistair's mouth went dry. This woman he had been teasing just a second before suddenly became a figure of tragedy.  _Maker_ , did he really say the Blight brought people together? "I'm sorry," he said, feeling the blood drain from his face. "I should have recognized you straight away."

She gave a small shrug, as if to suggest that she agreed that he was an idiot. "Elissa," she said, inclining her head ever so slightly. "You are Ser Alistair then? Of the Grey Wardens?"

"Just Alistair," he said quietly. "As the junior member of the order, I'll be accompanying you when you prepare for the Joining."

She didn't answer for a long moment, until he was just about to fill the silence with some babbling or other, when she finally narrowed her eyes and said, "So, you were given to the Chantry when you were young. Just an orphan or, were you somebody's bastard?"

Alistair's mouth fell open and his eyes went wide. " _What_?"

She bit her lip and looked him up and down. "I suppose you could just be an orphan but I'm thinking… some noble's bastard."

His flushed face was telling, he was certain, but he tried to shake it off with a joke. "You know usually people get to know me just a little bit better before they start in with the insults."

"I don't mean that kind of—" she started, but then stopped and rolled her eyes. "You  _know_  what I mean."

Alistair took a deep breath. Why did it seem like she was trying to get on his nerves on purpose? He didn't know, but was determined not to let her succeed. _"_ Yeah, I know what you mean," he said, giving a shrug. "And I guess it's no big secret. You're correct. I was trained as a Templar before Duncan recruited me about six months ago. And yes, I'm a bastard." He stopped when he noticed her take a rather deep and exasperated sigh.

"Can you," she spoke slowly, as if speaking to a child or a particularly dim-witted adult, "teach your Templar skills to others or  _not_?"

He didn't know how long he stood there staring at the girl with his mouth open, trying to figure out if he wanted to laugh or get mad, but when he realized what he was doing he snapped it shut. "No," he said simply, in the end. He was surprised at the intensity of her disappointment. Her face fell and in spite of everything, he felt a little guilty. "I mean," he went on. "I made a vow not to, when I left the Chantry."

"So your abilities  _can_  be taught to others then? I mean, it's not something you have to be born to?"

"No not at all," he said. "But it takes time... usually only those who have trained as warriors for a few years are able to master the techniques."

Again her face fell, but she recovered quickly and looked around. "Very well," she said, turning oddly formal. "I'm pleased to make your acquaintance. Do you know where a lady might go to find supplies here?"

"Sure," he said, feeling relieved. "That I can do."

* * *

"Here, hold this."

Alistair reached out to collect the vial. "What is it?"

Elissa turned back to the chest in front of her. She was on her knees, rummaging through it in a little dark corner of the merchant's stall. "I'm not sure. But if it's what I think it is..." She turned back and gave him a pointed look. "... _don't_  drop it."

Alistair eyed the little vial suspiciously. He could see a thick, amber substance inside it. The vial had a metal wire wrapped around its circumference. "Why? What will happen if I drop it?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "It will explode. Into fire."

Alistair's eyebrow shot up and he held the vial more delicately. He shifted his weight and tried to balance everything he was holding in his right arm, so he could hold the little vial in his left hand... away from his body.

Elissa ignored his obvious discomfort and went back to rummaging through the trunk.

The second they'd arrived at the merchant's stall, Elissa had divested herself of her armor and weapon. She'd given the chainmail chest piece to the merchant to appraise while she picked out items for trade. She'd also shoved her sword and shield into Alistair's hands for safekeeping while she rifled through the merchant's wares, her mabari watching him guardedly all the while.

Alistair sighed and resumed trying to stand in a way that didn't exude "errand boy." He tried not to think about the dangerous vial in his hand. Instead, he turned to watch Elissa. Now that her attention was focused on the chest in front of her, he could get a good look at her without risking her ire, or even worse, her curiosity.

He let his gaze wander down the small figure in green before him. Her velvet skirt was fanned out behind her in a semi-circle. He cocked his head to the side as he noticed a brown stain that ran along the bottom inch or so of the entire garment. The material bunched under her, but from his vantage point beside her he could see that the stain seemed to climb almost up to her knees at the front of the dress.

 _It's like she knelt in some mud or..._ Alistair's eyes widened as he looked closer at the stain. It wasn't brown like he'd first thought. It was rust colored. It was the color of dried blood.

_She knelt in a pool of blood._

He opened his mouth to speak but just as he did the giant mabari growled low in his throat. He turned to see the beast staring at him, as if the hound had noticed Alistair's inspection and deemed it offensive.

"I'm just  _standing_  here," he said to the dog. "I'm not doing anything!"

Elissa rested an elbow on the side of the chest and looked at the two of them over her shoulder. "Prince," she said in a firm tone. "Leave Alistair be. He's..." she turned to stare at him from under those dark eyebrows of hers, "a friend."

Prince gave Elissa a  _look_  and if Alistair didn't know better, he'd say it was a skeptical one. But nevertheless, the dog did stop growling at him and sat back on his haunches. He still kept his eyes on him, however.

Alistair shook his head and turned back to Elissa, and then gulped.

She was staring at him again. Which wouldn't on its own be cause for concern, but when Elissa looked at him like that, strange questions seemed to follow.

"Is Duncan dying?" she said, head tilted to the side.

Like  _that_.

His mouth gaped open. "What? How... why would you even ask that?"

Elissa raised her eyebrows and looked at him coolly. "That wasn't a denial."

Involuntarily an enormous sigh escaped him. "Look, I can't... he's not... it's not that simple."

"And that was most emphatically not a  _no_."

Alistair's shoulders slumped in defeat. "I can't tell you anything—"

"Let me guess, you can tell me more after the Joining?"

"Yes. That's right."

She gave a little "hmm," and then turned back to the chest in front of her.

The sigh of relief that escaped him was audible as well, but she paid him no mind.

 _Maker_ , did she have a lot of questions—not just about him, but also about the Grey Wardens, the darkspawn, the Blight, Duncan, the other recruits... it was getting a little exhausting.

It's not that he minded questions—of course he had expected that from the moment Duncan told him about the tradition of the least senior warden being the one to mentor and guide new recruits. He'd been looking forward to it. He had imagined how they might look up to him, as someone who had so recently been through what they were now experiencing.

And that's how it had been when he met Daveth and Jory, at least. Sure, they'd asked their fair share of questions, and they seemed understandably nervous at the prospect of what, to them, was still a mysterious ritual.

Elissa's questions were different. They seemed almost random, and he never understood how she just seemed to know so much about him, without him telling her. The whole conversation had left him feeling rather... exposed _._

Worse than that were the questions she asked about the Wardens and the Blight. Actually, it wasn't her questions—it was how she reacted when he responded. He couldn't help feeling that his answers were somehow wrong, even though everything he told her was true.

Elissa made a little noise and then held up a small leather chest piece, examining it with a steady frown. She ran a hand down the front of it and then held it closer to her face, sticking her finger through a tiny hole in the side.

Her face paled. "This looks like an arrow hole. I think this armor might be... might be... um..."

"Used?"

Her eyes grew wide. She looked around the merchant stall as if she'd only just realized where she was. "Right," she said uncertainly, before shaking her head and shoving the armor under her arm. She grabbed the other items and stood. "Here hold these," she said, shoving the leather armor into his arms and making him jostle the vial.

"Careful!" he said with a rather embarrassing amount of nervousness as he gently rearranged everything in his arms, trying to move the vial as little as possible.

Elissa snatched the vial out of his hands. "It's not designed to break that easily," she said, holding it up. "It's only designed to break on impact—from being thrown with some force. A minor knock isn't going to set it off. That wouldn't be very practical. See?" She knocked the vial lightly twice on the wooden shield Alistair carried.

His heart leapt to his throat with each knock and he couldn't keep from gasping. "Can you  _not_  do that again? Please?"

Her lips curled ever so slightly into a smile, and for a moment he thought she was going to retort with a joke. But then she seemed to catch herself and frowned instead, giving him back the vial and turning away in a huff.

Alistair shook his head and followed her. He had thought for a second that she just might have a sense of humor after all. Apparently not.

A black curtain hung in a dark corner of the "shop." Elissa reached out to sweep it aside and revealed a number of shelves lining the wall. Alistair saw vials containing bright red and blue liquids, as well as other opaque bottles, loose herbs sticking out of tin cups, and various odds and ends that he didn't recognize. He stepped closer when his eye caught a few gold, shiny pieces of metal.

They were piled loosely at the edge of the bottom shelf. Square in shape, the metal pieces looked like they'd had an image of something stamped on them. Alistair leaned forward, completely captivated by the shiny gold pieces. A sudden and almost overwhelming urge to grab them and shove them into his pocked almost overcame him. He was dimly aware of Elissa at his side, but still he practically jumped out of his skin when she reached out to grab one of the shiny objects.

"Ahh, glamour charms," Elissa said. And just like that, the little pieces of metal lost their appeal, and Alistair shook his head, wondering what he found so irresistible about them in the first place.

"That's . . . odd."

She looked at him with eyebrows raised. "Once you know what they are the attraction spell is broken," she explained.

"What do you use them for?" he asked, as she added a handful to the stash of bottles and herbs she carried in her arms.

"Things," she said with a frown, before walking back toward the merchant.

Alistair rolled his eyes at her back. For as much as she had pestered him with questions, she answered few of her own. And when she did, the answers didn't illuminate much. "Oh of course," he said, turning to follow her. "Things!"

The merchant took one look at all the goods Alistair and Elissa carried and his eyes grew wide, clearly excited at the impending sale.

Elissa dumped all that she carried on the table in front of them, and Alistair carefully added the little amber vial next to them and then set down the leather pants, boots and chest piece he had tucked under his arm.

The merchant rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

"I think this will do."

"Great! Let me see how much you owe—"

"Owe?"

The shopkeeper turned back to Elissa with a look of incredulity. "Yes, owe. You didn't think you could trade one measly piece of armor for all this did you?"

Elissa gestured at the chainmail piece in the shopkeeper's hands. "That vest was crafted by an Orlesian master blacksmith—it's silverite. My father paid a fortune for it _." S_ he swept a hand over the pile of goods she had selected on the table. "These items were clearly scavenged from somewhere, at little cost to you." She held up the leather chest piece. "Look! This piece even has a hole in it!"

The shopkeeper raised his hands in protest. "I can't trade all of this for one measly chainmail vest! I don't care how much you claim its worth—I'll never sell it for that much out here."

Elissa crossed her arms and then looked down at herself. Inspiration flashed over her face and she looked at the merchant with a little smile. She moved around the small table. "What about this?" she said, waving grandly at the velvet gown she was wearing.

The merchant's mouth gaped open. "What do I want with your dress?" He pointed at the bottom of her skirts. "It's all burnt and stained and besides, who am I going to sell a dress to in a war camp?"

"Not the dress," Elissa chided. "The fabric _._  Look at this." She held her arm up in front of the merchant's face and ran her other hand over her forearm. "This is crushed velvet from Orlais—it's very expensive." Her expression softened and she looked at the merchant with a smile. "Imagine what your wife could make with it," she said slyly. "She'd be ever so pleased—"

"Sorry, lady," the merchant said, shaking his head. "You're barking up the wrong tree there. I'm not married."

Elissa's expression snapped back into anger, and she gave a growl of frustration. Her hound must've sensed her irritation, because the giant beast stepped up beside her and added his own growl, staring at the shopkeeper intently.

The shopkeeper's eyes grew wide and he took a step backward. "Now wait just a minute—"

"Prince, that's enough." She rested her hand on the mabari's enormous head and the beast stopped growling, and looked up at her inquisitively. "We're not going to intimidate this man into making a deal he doesn't want to." She looked at the merchant and then looked at her feet sullenly. "Even though we totally could," she muttered under her breath.

The merchant rubbed his neck. "I'm a reasonable man." He eyed the hound nervously. "Do you have anything else to trade?"

Elissa turned and looked at the shield and sword Alistair was still carrying. She bit her lower lip and her brow creased into a frown. It wasn't just agitation on her face—her expression housed a mixture of emotions Alistair couldn't quite read. Finally she gave a deep sigh and stepped up to Alistair.

She reached out and took the shield from his hands. He watched as she lovingly ran a hand over the sigil on the front. He had recognized the symbol as belonging to House Cousland, but the way Elissa looked at it now, he got a sinking feeling it wasn't an ordinary guard's shield he'd been carrying for her. Finally she turned back to the merchant.

"Fine," she said, walking over to him holding the shield in front of her by the sides. She stood in front of the merchant staring down at the shield in her hands. "This shield has been in my family for over four hundred years. It is worth more than all the goods in your stall combined," she said, before looking up at the merchant with a hard expression her face. "I will trade you this shield, but when my brother returns from scouting the woods, he will buy it back from you. Understood?"

"Oh, your brother has all the money does he?" the merchant said with a sneer. "Yeah, I've never heard that one before."

At his words Elissa flushed, and gathered herself up to stand stiffly and properly in front of him. "My brother happens to be the Teyrn of Highever," she said. Her eyes were glassy and she blinked rapidly as she stared at the man in front of her.

Alistair had started to suspect as much, but this confirmed it. She called her brother  _Teyrn_ , which meant... her father was dead. Alistair felt a rush of sympathy for the poor girl.

The merchant looked at her out of the corner of his eyes. "Teyrn?"

"It's true," Alistair said, and both Elissa and the merchant turned to look at him. "My Commander just came from Highever with her." He nodded in Elissa's direction. "Her brother is the Teyrn."

Something akin to gratitude flitted across Elissa's face, and while the merchant kept his eyes on Alistair, she furtively wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, before mouthing "thank you" to him. He gave her a tight smile.

The merchant turned back to Elissa and seemed to reappraise her at that. Alistair could practically hear the man adding up the coins he had the potential to earn off of this obviously highborn noble woman. Still, he gave a grumbling nod, as if he felt cheated.

"Alright, fine _._  You have a deal."

* * *

"You speak highly of Duncan."

Alistair looked at Elissa. She'd grown more serious since she'd emerged from the merchant stall, picking uncomfortably at the leather armor she wore. He was leading her and the mabari back to the Warden's campfire.

He gave a small shrug. "I spent years in the Chantry, hopelessly resigned to my fate. Duncan was the first person who cared what I wanted." He smiled at the memory of the grand cleric's jowls jiggling in anger as Duncan informed her what was going to happen. "He risked a lot of trouble with the grand cleric to help me."

Elissa was quiet for a moment. When he looked down at her, he saw her looking back at him with another of her appraising looks. "He must've thought you'd be useful."

Alistair's cheek flushed in sudden irritation and he turned back to scowl at the ground at his feet. "Or maybe he just happens to be a good man."

He'd walked a couple of paces before he realized that she had stopped. When he looked back he saw her looking at him with a matching expression of anger.

"It's possible that both are true, you know," she spit at him. "Do you really think he only recruited you out of compassion?"

It was his turn to cross his arms. "I didn't say that—"

"So why are you offended? Do you have some problem with being considered useful?"

The way she said 'useful' rankled him. That's how nobles thought of people, he realized—as either useful to them or not. He didn't like thinking of Duncan's kindness to him in those terms.

"No, but you make it sound so calculated—"

"So?" she almost yelled at him. Alistair saw some heads turn around them to stare at their heated discussion. "Is it so impossible to believe he could be both calculating and compassionate?"

His irritation waned in the face of her obvious agitation and the spectacle they were making. "Alright," he said raising his hands. "I suppose that's true. Let's just . . . move on." He turned to resume their walk back to camp.

"No, wait a minute," she said, reaching out to stop him. He turned in surprise at the unexpected contact. She stared up at him intently and her expression seemed almost manic. "Why do you think I was recruited?"

His eyes widened. He had specifically avoided asking too many questions because. . . well he was pretty sure what happened to her was downright terrible, and he hadn't wanted to risk upsetting her.

"I thought . . ." he stammered. "Duncan rescued you."

She angrily shook her head. "Really Alistair, if I had been one of those noble ladies who never bothered learning arms or combat . . ." She stared fixedly at him, and her next words seemed quite deliberate. ". . . do you think Duncan would have still recruited me into the Grey Wardens?"

He blinked in the face of her stare. "I . . . well, probably not."

She searched his face for a few more seconds, before releasing his arm with a sigh and shaking her head. "Exactly," she muttered to herself.

"But still," Alistair said heatedly. "I'm sure he would have helped you if he could. He's a  _good_  man, and he wouldn't have just left you there to die."

She looked at him now as if she had no idea what he was talking about. "What? Oh, yes. I suppose," she said distractedly.

Alistair frowned in confusion. "Isn't that the point you were making? That just because he found you useful didn't mean he wouldn't still do the right thing if he could?"

"Hmm? Oh. Yeah, sure." With that Elissa turned and resumed walking toward the Warden campfire.

Alistair frowned at her back, feeling all sorts of mixed emotions after the strange conversation. With a heavy sigh he made to follow her, relieved at the thought that she would at least be able to aim all her questions at Duncan for the immediate future.

He was rather sick of them, himself.


	5. Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elissa heads into the Wilds with the other recruits and Alistair.

_Do you ever have that dream,_ _  
_ _when you open your mouth and you try to scream,_ _  
_ _but you can't make a sound?_

_That's every day starting now._ _  
__That's every day starting now.  
_ — _Wish I May,_ Ani Difranco

"You know, I couldn't help noticing the look on your face when Duncan said we were heading off into the Wilds."

"Oh really?" Elissa glanced at the recruit walking next to her. Daveth's scruffy face was smug as he glided through the forest on expert feet.

"That's right. And I just want you to know, you have no reason to be frightened—"

"I am  _not_  frightened," Elissa said, raising her eyebrows and keeping her voice even as she narrowly avoided tripping over another root.

It was a complete lie, of course. She had been terrified from the moment she discovered that Duncan planned to send them into the Wilds to fight darkspawn.

"Of course not!" he said easily. "And you needn't be, because if you watch my back..." He leaned in and raised an eyebrow at her, letting his gaze travel up and down her form. "I'll watch yours."

"You can keep your eyes and your hands to yourself, thief." 

He jerked his head at the Warden who was walking ahead of them. "Been talking me up, eh mate?"

Alistair looked back at them with a wry smile. For a moment, her eyes met his, and she saw a hint of knowing amusement lurking there. She looked away. "I didn't tell her a thing," she heard him say.

The thief raised an eyebrow at Elissa. "So, Duncan told you then."

Elissa met his gaze evenly. "No. You did. When we were introduced."

Daveth cocked his head to the side and raised his eyebrows. "Yeah," he said, drawing out the word. "I think I would remember that _._ "

"And yet you did just the same," she said coming to a stop and putting her hand on her hip. The rest of the party stopped too, and Elissa could see that Alistair and Jory watched them both intently. "When most men leer their eyes do not linger on a woman's... coin purse."

That earned her a bark of a laugh from the thief, and a chuckle of amusement from the others.

"Alright, lucky guess," Daveth said good-naturedly.

She cocked her head to the side. "Tell me, did you run away from home or were you kicked out?"

Daveth blinked at her. "Excuse me?"

She frowned. "Your home? You left it when you were still quite young."

"I . . . yeah," he said after a moment. "My old man was a little too free with his fists. Left as soon as I could."

She paused at the look that passed over Daveth's face. She felt a twinge of guilt for bringing up such painful memories, but it had been too obvious a guess to pass up. A guy like Daveth didn't turn to crime because he had better options.

"You grew up around here. Some low lying tiny village filled with a few farmers and a couple of shops, am I right?" At his incredulous look she went on, taking his silence as confirmation. "Of course, there's really only one place in Ferelden for a pickpocket to have any kind of success, so you wound up in Denerim, didn't you?"

The thief raised his hands in surrender. "I give up. How are you doing this?"

"Simple observations, really."

"I don't believe you. Duncan must've told you—"

"You move far too gracefully through these woods to have been brought up in a city. And your accent—it's faded a bit since you've moved to Denerim but I can still hear a bit of the Chasind influence in its undertones. As for your occupation—you're right, it wasn't just the fake leering that gave you away—"

"Oh no! The leering was all real I assure you."

She rolled her eyes. "Your armor also gives you away. Your gloves and boots are expensive while the rest of your equipment is second rate at best. What occupation but a thief needs to have nimble fingers and quiet feet?"

He stared at her in admiration. "That's kind of amazing."

It was hard not to smile as they resumed their walk through the wilds. The warmth of satisfaction that flowed through her was intoxicating—or as close to it as she had ever felt. Elissa had never given into that particular indulgence, so she really didn't know, but she had to assume it must be something like the heady thrill that went through her when she saw that look on someone's face.

It was the look of someone realizing in an instant that they had grossly underestimated her.

She had learned to savor moments such as this in her short life, and she parceled them out sparingly, for she was just as practical as she was intelligent. It had served her well to keep her talents hidden.

Until now. Now, things were different. For the first time, Elissa had the uncomfortable and unfamiliar sensation of self-doubt. It was not a feeling she relished, but it could not be avoided. She was a young noblewoman expected to turn into a soldier, and she had no idea how.

And, it appeared Duncan had no interest in providing her any training before throwing her into the thick of battle. He treated her as if she were any other warden recruit. When she'd questioned his decision to send them into the Wilds he'd just looked at her evenly. "You weren't recruited out of  _charity_ ," he had said, letting a hint of sternness seep into his voice. "All three of you are skilled and resourceful."

She understood immediately that she could expect no special treatment from the Wardens due to her inexperience. It was left to her then, to figure out how to survive.

"Don't feel bad, Daveth. She did the same thing to me when we met," Alistair said, giving her a look before turning and resuming his walk through the wilds. She frowned at his back, unsure how to interpret it.

"Alright, so what about him?"

Elissa stared at Daveth a moment before realizing he was referring to Ser Jory. She hesitated, but once again she could not resist the temptation to elicit those strange looks of awe again... even if it wasn't entirely deserved in this case.

Ser Jory had turned at Daveth's question, a look of amused anticipation on his face. "Yes. What do you know about me?"

She didn't hesitate to answer. "You are a knight, originally from Redcliffe but now from Highever," she said, proud of the fact that she was able to say  _Highever_  without choking. "Duncan recruited you because you won the Grand Melee in the Bann of Highever's tournament."

Jory stared at her in wonder. "How could you  _possibly_  know all that?"

"Easy. I was there." 

The three of them chuckled and she almost joined them in it in spite of herself. They had believed for a moment that she figured that out on her own. That seemed promising.

Jory blinked at her and a look of recognition flitted over his face. "Wait, I do remember you! You... you wore the favor of a knight from Castle Cousland, didn't you? Ser... Roland Gilmore? I believe that was his name." He nodded at her, smiling brightly.

Hot tears sprung to her eyes and she looked down and away, unable to meet the gazes of the three men who were now staring at her.

_Stupid, stupid._

She'd gotten so caught up in her little games, she hadn't even thought of the possibility of him recognizing  _her_.

They were still looking at her, she felt, as they continued to walk together, and her silence in response to Jory's question stretched out in a longer and longer awkward moment. There was nothing she could do about it, she realized thickly, her mind was a haze of sadness and pain.

She simply could not speak of him.

"I'm sorry," she heard Jory mutter. She couldn't quite see what happened next, as she was staring intently at the ground, but she could tell that Alistair had turned toward the others. He hadn't said anything, but the others fell quiet and Elissa guessed that he had silenced them with a pointed look. It made her feel absurdly grateful and wretched at the same time.

This was not the impression she wanted to give.

But, before she could say anything to change it, Prince stiffened beside her and the low rumble of a growl thundered through his chest.

It was amazing how quickly the men snapped into action, ready for battle. Faster than she would have thought possible, Alistair had his sword and shield out and looked around warily, while Jory drew the enormous sword from off his back and stood next to him. When Elissa looked back at Daveth he'd already drawn his bow and had an arrow notched, pointing at a threat she hadn't even seen yet...

_There._ An enormous and monstrous looking wolf emerged from the underbrush of a small hill to her left, and then a good half dozen more popped out around them, rushing at them with the frantic energy Elissa would normally associate with rabid animals.

Jory and Alistair drew the attention of most of the pack while Daveth shot arrows over her head at a few animals that were coming up in front of them on the right.

She froze in fear at the sight of them. The wolves didn't look normal at all. Their snarling jaws dripped with what looked like black ichor instead of saliva, and their hides were covered in patchy pieces of fur.

As Elissa stared in horror, she realized that she could see the sinew of muscles and the whiteness of bones poking through the skin of the wolf that was barreling toward her. She could do nothing but stare as the wolf ran at her, madness lighting a fire in his wild, red eyes. Right as the wolf launched itself at her, Prince appeared and barreled into it, knocking it away from her.

Elissa's heart leapt into her throat.  _Thank the Maker!_

Prince and the wolf rolled onto the ground, and her chest seized up in fear that the monster was going to kill her mabari. Finally, she had sense enough to start moving, but before she could get her blade out of its sheath the force of something large and impossibly hard crashed into her back and she was knocked to the ground.

The force of the fall jolted her and she could barely breathe, but she managed to turn over, scrambling backwards on her hands and feet.

The wolf charged her. She managed to bring up her right leg in time to deliver a swift kick to its face, but it only stopped the beast for a moment and before she could pull her leg away its huge jaws clamped down on her leg right below the knee.

Its jaws pierced her calf. The wolf jerked his head back with her leg still clenched in its mouth

She saw stars. The massive, sharp teeth savaged her flesh and she screamed from the pain. She felt certain the vicious animal was going to bite her leg clean off with another jerk of its head, but thankfully just then Daveth appeared above her and bashed the wolf in the face with the pummel of his sword, the force strong enough to make the animal loosen its jaws on her leg.

With another shriek of pain Elissa pulled herself away as Daveth stepped over her, driving his sword deep into the animal's neck with a sickening  _crunch._

Elissa's stomach heaved as the wolf's carcass flopped over dead in front of her. The blood that flowed from its neck looked black and thick—not at all like regular blood. And it stank—the animal had only just died, but the stench of death had clung to it while it was alive too.

"What  _are_  those things?" she asked breathlessly, staring in horror at the corpses around her.

"Blight wolves," Alistair explained, looking at her with a worried expression. The bodies of several wolves lay at his and Jory's feet.

Daveth kneeled over her, reaching out to inspect her wound. "Your leg—"

"—do not touch me!" she shrieked and pulled back. In an instant Prince was there, standing over her and growling menacingly up at the pickpocket.

"Alright, alright!" he said, backing away with his hands raised and shaking his head. "I was just trying to help."

Elissa pushed Prince away and reached into her bag. "I do not require your help. I can take care of this myself."

After a few moments of fumbling she retrieved a health potion. She rolled up her pant leg and then scowled at the nasty looking bite on her calf. One of the wolf's sharp teeth had punctured her calf quite deeply, and Elissa's stomach churned just looking at the way the blood pooled in the hole in her leg.

She took a deep breath before uncorking the vial and reaching back in her bag to retrieve a bandage. Then, she spread the potion on it and took another deep breath before pressing it against the wound at her calf.

It burned like fire. She screwed up her face and turned away, trying to breathe through her nose and willing herself not to cry. Finally, the potion started to work, and the burning faded away into an annoying but far more bearable itch. She turned back to examine the wound—it had mostly closed, though it was still raw looking and would need to be covered.

As she wrapped her leg in the bandage, Daveth give a low whistle. She looked up in surprise. "What?"

"Nothing. You're just tougher than you look, is all."

She blinked at him. He thought she was tough? It astonished her enough to leave her speechless for a few seconds as she stared at her leg. After a moment she looked up at him. "And you are just a bit smarter than you look," she said dryly, earning her a chuckle before he shook his head and walked away.

She rolled her pant leg back down and then got to her feet, gingerly testing her weight on her leg. It ached still, and she figured she might have some scarring, but she could walk just fine. As she knelt to return her health potion and bandages to her bag, a shadow loomed over her, causing her to look up with a squint.

Alistair looked down at her in concern. "How's the leg?"

"It'll be fine, thank you," she said, standing up and slinging her pack back over her shoulder. "Though I am a bit worried about infection," she confessed. Something flit across his expression. She narrowed her eyes. "Of course... Wardens must have some means of guarding against the darkspawn corruption, don't they?"

His face lost a bit of his color and he opened his mouth and then closed it, seeming unable to come up with an answer. 

She gave a frustrated sigh and held up a hand. "Never mind. You can tell me more after the Joining, I _know_."

As He frowned down at her, his expression hardened, and a coldness creep into his gaze. It was so incongruous with his normally friendly demeanor that she blinked up at him in surprise.

"Yeah, well," he said rubbing his heck and not meeting her gaze. "Let's just move on." He turned to go, but Elissa reached out and stopped him. He looked back at her curiously.

She leaned in to whisper. "Did Duncan tell you anything about me?"

"No, I . . . heard what happened from a messenger."

Elissa shook her head and let go of his arm. "I don't mean about that. I mean... he didn't pull you aside and talk to you about me?"

"No. What are you talking about?"

"I suppose it's all a part of the initiation," she said, thinking aloud and frowning at her feet. "And he thinks I have to figure this out on my own..."

"Figure what out? Elissa?"

She opened her mouth to answer, but Prince started barking wildly. They both turned to see the hound up ahead, looking at something they couldn't see behind the small hill the path wound around.

Alistair held up a hand. "Hold that thought," he said, and then jogged after the dog. Giving a sigh, Elissa followed with the others.

When she rounded the bend, she spotted the body. It was a soldier, lying face up in the mud. She looked around, alarmed.  _Not the only one._ There were at least a dozen bodies lying dead in the grass and in the mud at the bottom of this hill.

The blood on the closest body seemed fresh—this didn't happen too long ago. She flipped the man over with her foot to see the shield on his back. The sigil it bore belonged to some minor Bann—she couldn't remember who, but she breathed a sigh of relief.

They weren't Highever men, at least.

A voice called out. "Who... is that?"

Elissa spotted movement—one of the bodies lifted its head. She rushed forward, and the rest followed.

"Grey Wardens?" the man looked up at them in disbelief as they approached. He had a nasty gash on his head and his arm hung from his shoulder at an uncomfortable angle.

"Well, he's not half as dead as he looks, is he?" Alistair said, cheerily walking up behind her.

Elissa turned and gave him an incredulous look. "There's no such thing as 'half dead'," she began, before seeing the cheeky grin start to spread over Alistair's face. With a roll of her eyes she turned back to the injured man. "What happened here?" 

"My scouting band was attacked by darkspawn! They came out of the ground." His eyes were wild with fear. "Please, help me! I've got to return to camp."

Something cold coiled in Elissa's belly, but she steadfastly tried to ignore it. Instead, she offered him a drink from one of her vials and he accepted it gratefully, along with a drink from Alistair's water skin. It was only a couple of minutes later that he stood and after offering his copious thanks, set off in the direction they'd come in.

Elissa watched him go before turning back to face the others.

Jory had gone pale and he looked at them with wide eyes. "Did you hear? An entire patrol of seasoned men killed by darkspawn!"

Elissa swallowed the lump in her throat. Ser Jory was a man trained as a knight and skilled in the ways of war, and he was ready to turn tail and run. How scared should she be?

Alistair took a step toward the knight and put his hands up. "Calm down, Ser Jory. We'll be fine if we're careful."

It didn't help. Jory became even more agitated.

"Those soldiers were careful," he said, pointing at the bodies around them with an emphatic finger. "And they were still overwhelmed. How many darkspawn can the four of us slay? A dozen? A hundred?" His eyes darted to Elissa, standing behind Alistair, and for a moment she feared the knight had figured out her inexperience and was going to point at her accusingly. But thankfully, he didn't. "There's an entire army in these forests!"

"There are darkspawn about, but we're in no danger of walking into the bulk of the horde," Alistair said, his voice level and soothing.

"How do you know?" Jory pressed on, undeterred. "I'm not a coward, but this is foolish and reckless. We should go back."

"It does seem a bit . . . dangerous," Elissa said quietly. Alistair looked at her and she flushed and looked at her feet, embarrassed at revealing her fear.

"See? What did I tell you?" Jory said.

"A bit of fear isn't unnatural, you know," Alistair said calmly, looking between Elissa and Jory. "Few relish meeting darkspawn up close. I know I don't." His gentle tone was helping, and Elissa tried to focus on what he was saying. "Know this: All Grey Wardens can sense darkspawn. Whatever their cunning, I guarantee they won't take us by surprise. That's why I'm here."

Elissa looked up and caught his eyes for a moment before he looked purposely away.  _The Grey Wardens can sense the darkspawn._ That was another clue. It had to be related to this Joining ritual...

"You see, ser knight? We might die, but we'll be warned about it first." Elissa looked up in surprise at Daveth. His nonchalant bravery was kind of impressive.

"That is . . . reassuring?" In spite of Jory's tone, the man  _did_  seem a tiny bit reassured.

She looked at the men trying to overcome their own fears, and felt enormously guilty. None of them knew the truth about  _her._

"That doesn't mean I'm here to make this easy, however," Alistair said firmly, before giving them all a pointed look and moving away from them. "Let's get a move on."

The others followed but Elissa remained where she stood. She stared at the carnage the darkspawn had wrought.  _How many darkspawn can the four of us slay?_ The knight had included her in that number, but really, there were only three of them that could slay darkspawn.

She heard a huff next to her and looked down to see Prince staring up at her. She sighed and petted his head.

Technically there  _were_  four fighters here—she just wasn't one of them. Of course, she wasn't so sure that the others would see it that way. But she couldn't put off the truth any longer.

She watched them walk away from her for a few seconds, knowing what she had to do but finding herself unable to speak. Finally, the three men seemed to notice that she wasn't following them and turned back to look at her. She looked down at the ground, unable to meet their curious gazes.

"Elissa?" she heard Alistair say as he walked back to stand in front of her. "What's wrong?"

The other men had come up behind him and were now staring at her as well. Her tongue felt impossibly large in her mouth, like she hadn't drunk water in days. She had to tell these men the truth, somehow, but she found the prospect utterly daunting.

She bit her lip and looked down at Prince. He looked up at her with his eyebrows screwed up in that way he had—her mother had joked that he was trying to copy her own habit of raising one eyebrow when she was being inquisitive.

_Oh Maker_ , she thought,  _Prince is the perfect companion_. He never cared if she was cross or if she couldn't defend herself. He was simply and utterly devoted to fighting for her. That was what she had to let them see, she realized. He was just as good as them, and they would just have to accept that fact.

With an impulsive sort of resolve she squared her shoulders and turned to the men standing in front of her. She straightened her back and looked at the three of them in the eye in turn, before speaking with a clear, commanding voice. "I thought you all should know before we get any farther that Prince does my fighting for me," she said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "He's far better at it than I am anyway." She gave a tight little smile at that, hoping her breezy tone would accomplish something.

The three men stared at her in silence for several heartbeats before Alistair shifted uncomfortably. "Wait, what do you mean exactly?"

"He does the fighting for me as I have not. . . trained in it," she continued, trying to sound far more confident than she felt. At their dubious expressions she went on. "I am not completely worthless," she said, feeling her cheeks grow hot at their continued scrutiny. "I have extensive knowledge of both potions and poisons, and I've adapted some old traps of mine to be quite lethal—"

"You  _cannot_  be serious?" Jory stared at her in shock. "You have no formal training  _whatsoever_?"

Elissa's heart fell. Before she could retort, however, Daveth snorted at the knight. "Formal training's overrated anyway. 'snot like I had it and I fight just fine."

She looked at the thief, surprised at his support.

"Yes, but you know how to fight," Jory went on, sounding hysterical. "She doesn't!" He turned back to Elissa and pointed a finger at her. "I don't know what you did to fool Duncan, but it ends now."

"I did not fool him—"

Jory had no intention of letting her speak. "You're making a mockery of this! It isn't fair," the knight whined, and Elissa was struck then with how cow-like he appeared. "I earned my place to be here! If Duncan knew—"

"You think I didn't earn my place?" Elissa snarled, stepping close, and glaring up at the taller man. "I may not have been trained in combat but I do know how to kill. I've probably killed more men than the lot of you combined," she said, waving an angry hand at the rest of them. She knew she was hardly an intimidating figure, having just revealed the fact that she wasn't trained to fight at all. But her rage burned so hot inside her at that moment she felt every bit as dangerous as the rest of them."And they did not die prettily, Ser Jory," she added.

When he looked at her after that tirade, he finally faltered. "I'm... well that may be true but I still think that Duncan should be informed—"

"He already knows," Alistair said quietly. "Doesn't he?"

"In fact, he does," she answered, hearing her heartbeat thrum in her ears. That was the second time he had backed her up when she wasn't expecting it.

He was looking at her now, however, with an inscrutable expression. She wasn't quite sure he was convinced yet.

She turned back to Jory. _One problem at a time._

"Duncan is well aware of my abilities," she said calmly, finally feeling her blood start to cool. She looked at them all with a steely gaze. "And I am  _not_  going back to camp. I don't care what you might think of me or my abilities; Duncan believes in me and has included me in this task. I  _will_  do my duty and accomplish this mission."

Daveth gave a low whistle. "Maker's blood. Beauty, brains and bravery?" he said giving her a smile she was surprised to find a bit charming. "I think I'm in love!"

"You have no sense at all!" Jory spit out. "This is ridiculous."

Ignoring both the knight and the thief Elissa turned to Alistair. "Well? What do you say, Warden?"

He looked at her for a long moment, and she couldn't tell what he was thinking. Finally he turned to Jory. "Ser Jory . . . it doesn't work like that. We can't go back. We don't have time for it anyway." He gave her another look, his brow furrowed deeply, before stalking away from them.

Elissa frowned, annoyed by the lukewarm endorsement, for some reason. But it would have to do.

Jory threw up his hands in exasperation. "Fine!" he practically shouted. "But if she gets herself killed it won't be my fault." He turned to face her then, and she saw an idea take root in his eyes. "And... she needs to kill her  _own_  darkspawn to get her  _own_  vial of blood. No one else should have to kill one for her," he finished with an angry glare.

Daveth gave a shrug. "That sounds fair," he said, turning to look at Elissa. "What do you think Princess? You got a darkspawn kill in you?"

"It's fine," she snapped, adjusting her pack around her shoulder. "Let's go. We have much to do and little enough time in which to do it."

She brushed past them, but just as she stepped on the path Alistair loomed in front of her again. She scowled up at him, bothered again that she was so affected by his lack of support. "What do you _want_?" 

He blinked down at her in surprise at her tone, and it was only after a few seconds that Elissa realized he held something in his hands. A crossbow. He must have scavenged it from the battlefield.

He held it out for her. "Do you have any archery experience?" 

She felt stupid for letting her temper get the better of her. She bent her head and spoke more meekly. "Yes, actually. But I have found it difficult to apply my training to this sort of thing."

"Right, well, hitting a moving target is a fair bit harder than hitting a stationary one, isn't it?"

She nodded at his generous explanation. "So... a crossbow?" 

"Right. Well, a crossbow... it's quite a bit different from shooting with a bow and arrow actually, but it might be a good place for you to start." He pointed at the bolt loading mechanism. "A crossbow bolt packs a much harder punch than a regular arrow, so it's a little more forgiving in terms of accuracy—but only from a fairly short distance, relatively speaking. Here, let me show you how to load it." He retrieved a bolt from a quiver on his shoulder before showing her how to load it into the crossbow and pull back the trigger. "It's loaded now, so be careful," he warned, handing it and the quiver to her.

She accepted them and looked up at him with a small smile. "This is... a really clever idea."

He snorted. "Don't act so surprised."

"I am always surprised when people are clever."

Her deadpan delivery earned her a bark of a laugh. "Fair enough."

She cocked her head to the side. "Why are you doing this anyway? I thought you weren't supposed to make things easy for us?"

His smile slid away. "I don't think this is going to be easy."

She gulped at the gravity of his tone. "Right," she said taking a deep breath and looking around. "That's... encouraging."

He leaned in and spoke quietly. "You know, the first time I fought darkspawn, I wasn't prepared for how monstrous they are. I can't say I'm looking forward to encountering them again."

Elissa held her breath, looking at her feet. After a moment she exhaled and glared up at him. "Are you trying to scare me?"

He frowned down at her. "No. I'm just trying to prepare you. The darkspawn are going to be more monstrous than the Blight wolves."

"Oh." She had hoped no one had noticed her paralysis in the thick of the fighting. But of course he had. "I see," she said, looking at her feet again.

She sensed him lean in closer and she looked up at him in surprise. The look he gave her was again serious, but not unkind. "It's alright. It was just... battle nerves. It happens."

She flushed at his reassurances, feeling like a fool for needing them. "It won't happen again."

He didn't flinch at her tone. Just leaned back and crossed his arms. "Just answer me one question."

His tone was so different she couldn't help being curious. "Alright. What question?"

"Before... when we talked at camp, you made it seem like you have no idea why Duncan recruited you."

"That's right. I still don't."

"Well, it's obvious, isn't it? You're... some kind of a genius or something, aren't you?"

She flushed deeply, unnerved at the strength of her reaction. She knew she was uncommonly smart. What did it matter what some common soldier thought? But it was nice hearing it from him... almost as nice as hearing that she was brave from Daveth. The difference was, she already knew she was smart. 

_This is irrelevant._ She shook her head, forcing herself to focus on Alistair's inquiry. "Tell me, have you ever heard the expression 'when the only tool you have is a hammer, every problem is a nail'?"

He squinted. "Yeah. How exactly does that apply?"

"The nail in this case is killing darkspawn," she said, watching his face for his reaction.

He looked at her thoughtfully. "And you're not a hammer."

Her eyebrows shot up her forehead and she couldn't keep her lips from forming into a small smile. "There you go, surprising me again."

It took him a second, but then it was his turn to flush.  _He's not used to being considered clever_ , she realized.  _Curious_.

He recovered and then looked down at her with a confused smile. "So what problem are you supposed to solve?"

"I have some theories but... I really don't know yet," she confessed. Plus, she had the whole trying-not-to-die thing dominating her thoughts at the moment.

"Fair enough," he said and turned to go, but before he did Elissa stopped him once again by putting her hand on his arm.

"Thank you," she said in a low whisper. "For all of your help. I do appreciate it."

His face was unreadable as he looked down at her, and once again Elissa noticed how his gaze seemed to harden. She let go of his arm. "Don't mention it," he muttered.

As he walked away it suddenly came to her, the reason for his weird moments of distance like that. It was obvious, really.

_He thinks I'm going to die._

This wasn't a deduction. This was pure intuition, but Elissa knew with that utter clarity she sometimes had that she was right. Alistair was worried that she was going to die.

And now, with an intensity she would not have thought herself capable of since she had left her castle on that dreadful night, Elissa found that she worried about it too.


	6. Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elissa contributes in her own way while the party fights darkspawn in the Wilds.

_Don't tell me it's going to be all right._ _  
__You can't sell me on your optimism tonight._  
—Wish I May, Ani Difranco

"Why are we stopping?" Elissa whispered.

The four of them crouched behind an embankment, hidden out of sight.

"There's a band of darkspawn camped out beyond that bridge, on the other side of these ruins," Alistair whispered back. "They have an emissary with them."

Elissa's gaze snapped to his. "An emissary? One of the darkspawn mages? How do you know? Is it your Templar abilities or your Grey Warden senses that tell you?"

Alistair almost laughed at her breathless string of questions. Her curiosity was a little more endearing when it wasn't focused with razor-sharp precision on his past, at least. "Neither. It's logic, actually. They don't typically dig in like this unless they have an emissary to protect."

"I see. It's a good thing we have a Templar with us."

"It won't do us any good if I can't get to him. The bridge is a choke point—"

"And they'll just mow us down with their spells and arrows if we all are grouped up there," Elissa finished for him. She frowned over the edge of the embankment for another moment before lowering herself back into a crouch and saying, "I have an idea."

She unbuckled her belt where her sword hung and set them both on the ground.

"If it involves getting undressed I'm all ears," Daveth said with a crooked grin.

Alistair was about to chide him when Elissa's hand shot out and pushed the thief on the shoulder with just enough force for him to topple over with a surprised laugh.

"Will you all be  _quiet?_ " Jory hissed, face turning red. He glared at them both while Daveth righted himself.

Elissa went on as if nothing had happened. "I'm going to sneak up there and lay some traps," she said, unslinging the bag she wore draped across her shoulder and retrieving some traps from it, setting them on the ground. She reached in again and pulled out the delicate amber vial she'd traded for at the shop.

Daveth's eyes went wide and he gave a low whistle of appreciation. "A fire bomb! You don't see those too often."

Elissa slipped the vial into a pocket and picked up her traps. "I'm going to use myself as bait to get their attention, lure them into these traps." She held up the two small traps in her hands. "Then when they trip them, I'll throw the fire bomb and—"

"The grease'll ignite and those 'spawn'll be toast!" Daveth finished for her, his eyes shining.

"That's right," Elissa said, and started to rise.

Alistair reached out to stop her, but a low growl from Prince let him know what the consequences of that action would be. "Wait," he whispered instead, letting his arm fall back to his side. She turned back to look at him with an inquisitive frown. "This sounds dangerous."

"And?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

He didn't really have an answer for that. "Right," he said. "Just . . . be careful."

Daveth rummaged around in his own pack and came out with flint and steel. "Hold on there, Princess. Don't waste your precious fire bomb." He took the quiver off his back and pulled out an arrow before putting it back and looking for a different one. "I've got an arrow in here I can light up and shoot when they hit the trap."

Elissa nodded at him. "Fine." She turned to Prince. "Bite anyone who touches my stuff," she said, before disappearing over the embankment.

Jory barely waited until Elissa was out of earshot before he started in on her again. "This is ridiculous. I don't know what Duncan was thinking, recruiting her."

The dog growled low in his throat.

"I don't think he likes you slagging on his mistress," Daveth said with a grin.

"Surely he can't understand me?" Jory's eyes were wide in spite his doubts. "And anyway," he said, sounding much more diplomatic. "I am not 'slagging' on her. I'm merely saying that this situation hardly seems fair."

"You didn't seem to mind using her potions."

Since Elissa's charming little announcement ( _Maker's_   _breath—Duncan could have at least warned me_ ), Daveth had become quite supportive, much to Alistair's surprise. In between bouts of obnoxious flirting, Daveth had actually offered Elissa bits of advice about ranged combat as they made their way through the Korcari Wilds.

And it had been working—so far, they'd beaten every pack of darkspawn they'd come across with little problem.

Prince really was a terrific fighter, good at taking out archers and tackling some of the larger creatures. Alistair had been worried about corruption from the darkspawn, but Elissa found a Wilds flower she claimed would protect the beast. The dog hadn't exhibited any signs of sickness so far, so he had to conclude that it was effective.

She wasn't half bad with the crossbow, either, especially after a pointed warning from Daveth not to fire into the melee fighters, no matter how tempting the shot—good advice considering both Elissa and Daveth used deathroot on their arrows and bolts. The mild toxin wasn't deadly, but it did make the creatures freeze up periodically in bouts of paralysis, allowing Alistair and Jory to kill them all that much easier.

"She still hasn't killed a darkspawn."

It was true, she'd hit some, but she hadn't actually killed any herself yet. She seemed reluctant to get close enough to one to finish it off. Not that he could blame her. And not that it mattered. "That is fine," he said in a biting tone, turning back to watch Elissa. "Daveth, get ready with that arrow."

The plan worked, though Alistair's heart was in his throat the whole time he watched Elissa creep up to the darkspawn party and lay her traps. She lured them out by throwing a rock at the bridge, and when the darkspawn triggered the grease traps, Daveth shot a flaming arrow into the lead one.

The explosion drew out the rest, and in a convenient reversal the chokepoint of the bridge seemed to work in their favor. Daveth and Elissa were able to shoot at them from behind cover as the monsters made their way across the bridge, and eventually Alistair was able to get to the emissary and drain his mana. They made short work of the rest of them after that.

The swamp sounded unnaturally quiet after the cacophony of battle faded. Alistair picked his way over the traps on the bridge. He had blown right by them on his way to attack the emissary during the fight, never even seeing them. He only now noticed that the rock Elissa had thrown set off a number of them when she'd tossed it at the bridge. He wondered if that was her intention, but then chuckled to himself at the question. Of course it was.

He found her kicking sullenly at one of the blackened corpses on the other side of the bridge.

"Their bodies are too burnt. I can't get any blood from them."

"Just get it from one of the other corpses," Alistair said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder to indicate behind him.

Elissa frowned. "I can't. I didn't kill any of those."

"Who cares? Just because Jory says you have to get your own vial doesn't make it true. He can't just decide that."

She shook her head. "I said that I would kill one, and I will."

"You did kill one," he countered, and then looked around him. "In fact, you killed three. You just killed them so thoroughly that you can't get the blood from them. That shouldn't matter."

Her gaze traveled from the corpses at their feet and then past him to the other recruits by the bridge. But after a moment of scowling she looked at him and shook her head. "Actually, I didn't. It was Daveth's arrow that technically killed them."

Alistair sighed. The girl was her own worst critic, he was coming to learn. No matter how much they thanked her for her potions, for example, she'd just shrug and say that they were damn inefficient compared to the healing power of a mage. "The blast radius of that shrapnel trap should have been larger," he had heard her mutter after one fight. "This poison loses its potency too quickly!" she complained after another.

"That's just... a technicality. They wouldn't be dead without your idea."

"He'll say it was a trick."

He didn't have to ask who she meant. "Who cares what Jory thinks?"

She just glared at him at that, and while Alistair had never been particularly good at mind reading, he could guess what she was thinking clearly enough. She wanted to do this to prove something to herself _._ That was admirable, he had to admit. "Look," he said, glancing around to make sure no one overheard them. "If you're set on killing one yourself, just try and stab one in the back that I'm fighting."

"That sounds like cheating."

"This isn't a game _,_  Elissa—you can't  _cheat_  at it," he said, surprising himself with the heat in his tone. "Winning just means the darkspawn are dead and you're not—that's it _._ " Her mouth fell open and he held up a hand. "Just . . . just promise me that you'll think about it, alright?"

She closed her mouth, apparently deciding not to say whatever it was she was about to. She looked at him a long moment before he saw her shoulders relax ever so slightly. He started to feel relieved, like maybe he was getting through to her, when she looked him square in the eye and said, "No."

He could do nothing but blink at her for several seconds. "What do you mean,  _no_?"

She had the grace to look apologetic, at least. "I'm sorry, but I'm not going to think about it. Did you want me to lie to you and tell you that I would?"

He stared at her dumbly.

She went on at his silence. "I need to kill one of these darkspawn on my own and get my own vial from it. That's what I agreed to do and that's what I'm going to do."

There was a part of him that was impressed, sure, at the girl's stubborn determination. An even larger part of him, however, could not help feeling a little appalled at her outright refusal to even admit to thinking about doing things his way.

She saw something in his face then—he didn't know what, but all of a sudden her expression went from grim determination to surprised amusement to thoughtful sadness, all in the span of a few seconds. She looked at the ground, brows knit together.

What had he done? "What's wrong?"

She looked up and gave a small, tight smile. "Arguing with you like that... and your... exasperation..." She sighed and closed her eyes, before opening them and taking a deep breath. She gave a small smile. "The only people I've ever seen that exasperated with me before were family members."

"Really?" he said without thinking, unable to hide his incredulity. She narrowed her eyes, and he realized how that must've sounded. "I'm sorry, I just..." It was hard to believe Elissa didn't frustrate every other living soul she came in contact with on a daily basis, but h couldn't tell her _that_. "I didn't mean it like that..."

She gave a snort. "It's fine." She seemed slightly amused at his distress, which was an improvement over the sad look, at least. "I'm not normally like...  _this_ ," she explained, waving a hand in general at herself.

He cocked his head to the side. "Like what exactly? A mere mortal like the rest of us?"

She looked genuinely confused for a moment until it seemed to dawn on her that he was joking. She gave a big sigh and then fell silent for so long Alistair wondered if she was going to answer. "When people look at me," she finally began again, "they see a young, vapid highborn girl. And that's what I let them see. Believe it or not, I used to keep my observations to myself."

He raised an eyebrow. "You mean you don't normally greet people by telling them where they were born and what they had for breakfast?"

She rolled her eyes but there was a hint of a smile on her lips, he could tell. "No," she said. "Not normally."

"Oh, I'm just lucky then?"

"Something like that."

"Why though? Why keep it a secret?"

" _Because_ ," she said, rolling her eyes to the heavens and sighing deeply. Alistair almost laughed. He couldn't help it. Maybe it was just some sort of weird defense mechanism to shield himself from the brunt of her anger, but he found himself oddly entertained by her unpredictable reactions.

She would likely find that terribly patronizing and she'd be right of course. He had no business thinking about her like that, especially not before...

The thought that hit him then made his smile flee. Even if he could keep her from ending up on the wrong side of a darkspawn sword out  _here_ , there was absolutely nothing anyone could do to protect her from the Joining _._

"Right," he said abruptly, frowning and not meeting her eyes. "Anyway, we're almost to the treaties and you're doing fine. Let's get going."

* * *

Elissa couldn't keep from scowling at Alistair's back as he walked away from her. Not for the first time, she wished the man could better school his face so as not to reveal every emotion that he happened to be experiencing at any given moment.

His assurances that she was "doing fine" were undercut markedly by the whole _'Elissa's totally going to die'_ face he kept making.

As she followed the others she tried to breathe deeply and calmly, struggling not to let her fear overwhelm her and paralyze her again. She couldn't afford that—not now, so close to their goal and her with so few tricks left up her sleeve.

She was out of traps, and nearly out of poison. Daveth had taught her to retrieve her crossbow bolts that didn't land on their target (and there were a decent amount of her shots that went wide, much to her dismay), so she still had plenty of those left, at least. And her sword. And her fire bomb.

And her vial—her still empty vial.  _What do we need darkspawn blood for anyway?_

That was an attractive question, but she really shouldn't spend time worrying about it. She needed to stay focused on the present—on surviving, not solving every mystery she was confronted with.

Still, as they approached a large sloping hill, Elissa couldn't help thinking about the mysterious ritual. Whatever happened there, she knew,notwhatever they were doing out here in the Wilds, would be the thing to make them Grey Wardens, able to sense the darkspawn and immune to their taint.

She couldn't help feeling a thrill of anticipation at the idea of having any kind of unnatural or special abilities. While logically she knew that the life of a mage could be a bitter one, imprisoned away from family and watched every second by Templars, there had always been a small part of her that wished she could have their power—the fact that it apparently took no small amount of intelligence and studying to master magic only made it seem all the more wrong that she couldn't do it herself.

Really, she should have been born a mage. This whole ordeal would be so much easier if she could light people on fire with her mind, instead of having to rely on tricks and traps.

Of course, if she had been born a mage, she wouldn't have known her family . . .

She shook her head and willed herself to stop thinking about it. It wouldn't do her any good.

She'd been looking at her feet in quiet contemplation for a while, so she didn't notice that Alistair had apparently called for a stop until Daveth reached out and grabbed her arm, pulling her down into a crouch behind a tree.

She looked up sharply, wondering where the hell Prince was and why he was letting Daveth manhandle her like this, when she saw the hound standing between them and Alistair and Jory up ahead. The hound was stiff and poised as if ready to bolt forward, the hackles on his neck raised in warning.

Elissa gulped. "There must be a lot of darkspawn up ahead," she whispered to Daveth.

He turned at her and nodded, bringing one finger to his lips. She slowly and quietly loaded her crossbow.

Alistair looked back at them and then made a series of gestures that she thought must have meant something about darkspawn and where they were up ahead, but her heart was pounding so loudly in her ears that she couldn't even think about interpreting them.

Fortunately Daveth seemed to understand, because he guided her up and over to another position further away from Jory and Alistair, behind another copse of trees.

"See them now, up there," he whispered, leaning over and pointing with two fingers at a grouping of rock that stood in front of a large domed structure. She peered into the distance, trying to see what he saw. She just saw rocks.

"I'll never hit them from here." The range on the crossbow was only good for about half of the distance between them and the rock formation.

Daveth pointed to the others, who had just started engaging a group of darkspawn on their left—also out of the range of Elissa's crossbow. "They're gonna draw them all over there and I'm going to pick them off from here. I might get their attention. If I do, you hit them with the crossbow when they come in range." At that, he stood out of cover and Elissa could practically feel the sharp twang of the bowstring as he let loose an arrow at the darkspawn that were now emerging from behind the rocks.

He felled a genlock and then drew again. The darkspawn ignored him, as the two men and Prince were closer and much noisier targets.

Elissa crouched by the tree, crossbow in hand, feeling completely useless. She could barely make out Alistair and Jory's heads above the swarm of darkspawn they were contending with. The men didn't seem to be having any problems, but she had never seen this many darkspawn together before.

_How many can the four of us slay?_

Daveth let loose another arrow and struck a hurlock in the arm. The darkspawn gave a wordless yell in outrage and turned its disgusting head to look where Daveth and Elissa were stationed.

"Alright, that one's yours, Princess," Daveth said, already drawing and aiming at another heading for the other group.

She stood up and pointed the crossbow at the monster heading toward them, willing herself to wait until he got in range before firing. When it was at half the distance between them and the rocks, she took a deep breath, braced herself and sighted down the crossbow. The monster ran straight at them, at least. She exhaled and pulled the trigger.

The bolt struck the darkspawn in the shoulder opposite to his arm injury and the force of it nearly spun him around. For a moment Elissa thought he might fall, but then he staggered forward and kept coming.

Willing herself not to panic, Elissa reloaded the crossbow, taking care not to move too quickly with her hands as unsteady as they were. She loaded the bolt into the chamber and pulled the bowstring taut, before lifting the crossbow and sighting down it again at the hurlock who was now only twenty feet away.

She took a deep breath, exhaled, and fired again. It hit the darkspawn in the middle of the chest. It wasn't quite point blank range, but it was close enough for the extra power of the crossbow to really pay off. She could tell by the way the blood splattered out that the bolt had torn through armor and flesh.

She had done it—she had killed her first darkspawn.

She watched the darkspawn drop before her, a smile half forming on her face, when suddenly Daveth shouted out a warning, sounding impossibly close on her left. She whirled around only to see a hurlock wearing a giant horned helm standing right in front of her. Before she could even drop her crossbow the darkspawn swung its fist at her head, and then there was only a brief moment of blinding pain before everything went black.


	7. Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elissa's situation has grown even more dire.

_Creatures seem to scream and faint_  
_Shadows blink and the laws will break_  
_Questions we could never solve_  
_As answers in darkness evolved_  
—Ash Tree Lane, MS MR

The darkspawn slid off the end of Alistair's sword with a weird sucking sound, leaving behind an eerie silence. He looked up in surprise, breathing heavily and feeling the ache in his muscles from what felt only moments ago like a battle against a never-ending number of darkspawn.

Jory stood next to him, leaning heavily on the two-handed sword he had propped in the ground. Alistair looked around and saw an impressively large circle of darkspawn corpses around them.

"That's the last of them," Jory said, sounding just as tired as Alistair felt. "I thought they'd never end."

Alistair didn't even have the breath to respond. He turned to look where the others had been and didn't see them.

His heart, which had only just started to beat slower, sped up with sudden fear. "Where are the others?"

Jory turned to look and then looked at Alistair with a dumbfounded expression.

Before Alistair could lose himself to panic he heard the unmistakable bark of Elissa's mabari coming at them from a distance. He looked up in surprise, not noticing until now that the hound had even left his side. He saw Prince by the copse of trees where he'd stationed Elissa and Daveth at the start of the battle. The dog was obviously excited, dancing around and barking maniacally at them.

He shared a worried look with Jory before urging his tired muscles into action once again and taking off as fast as he could toward the mabari, worry forming an uncomfortable knot of acid in his stomach.

"Elissa? Daveth?" he shouted as he ran over, but heard no response.

He got to the trees and saw what Prince was going on about. Daveth was lying on the ground on his back, his bow still clutched in one hand. He looked bruised and bloodied but Alistair saw the man's chest rise and fall and realized quickly that he was still alive.

Prince was sniffing all around the area, clearly getting the scent of something, before giving a triumphant bark and dashing off into the words.

"Wait!" Alistair cried, taking a few steps to follow the dog and then turning and looking back at Daveth. " _Dammit_."

He walked back and knelt at Daveth's side, hoping he still had some of the potions Elissa had passed out to all of them, and trying not to succumb to the dread he felt encroaching on his sanity. Where the hell was Elissa?

"Maker's breath, what happened here?"

Alistair looked up to see Jory looming over him. The knight's eyes were wide with shock, and he simply stood there, staring.

Before Alistair could answer, Daveth stirred and gave a moan of pain. He mumbled something incomprehensible before finally opening his eyes and looking at them. "Sodding hell," he said, trying to sit up.

Alistair passed him a health potion. "Where's Elissa?"

Daveth choked down the potion and looked around. "I . . . I don't know." He shook his head, looking confused. "This big blighter of a darkspawn came up behind us and cuffed her on the head, and then got me . . ." He looked up at Alistair in concern. "She's not with you?"

He didn't answer, and instead got up and starting looking around the bottom of the hill. After a moment he noticed where some of the marsh grass appeared flattened as if something had been dragged across it.

It felt like there was a hunk of cold lead sitting in Alistair's stomach with the dawning realization of what must have happened.

"Oh Maker," he swore, feeling the panic that he'd only just managed to keep at bay staring to flare up even worse. "The darkspawn took her."

"The darkspawn took her body?" Jory said, sounding both incredulous and terrified.

But the question made Alistair think. "No," he said, shaking his head. "I mean, she might not be dead." The two recruits looked at him doubtfully but he didn't really want to explain. "Look, we just have to find her—"

Just then Prince burst through the line of trees behind them to come barreling up to Alistair and deliver what sounded like a scathing reprimand in bark form. He stared at the beast, dumbfounded for a moment, before the hound gave another final bark, and then turned around to face the way he came.

The dog looked over his shoulder at Alistair and huffed. He felt a little crazy thinking it, but he was quite sure that huff meant "are you coming or what?"

"Right!" Of course Prince could track her. Alistair started after the dog. "Stay here with Daveth!" he called over his shoulder as he ran after the hound, hope flickering dangerously in his chest.

_Watch over your charges, Alistair. Return quickly and safely._

Duncan's words rang in his ears as he tried to keep up with the mabari charging through the Wilds, mocking his ineptitude and failure. He had thought splitting the archers away from the melee fighters to shoot from cover had been a good plan, but it obviously failed, nearly getting Daveth killed and getting Elissa kidnapped (or worse) as a result.

One thing was certain: after this, he was never leading anyone anywhere ever again.

* * *

It didn't take a genius to figure out that wherever the horn-helmed darkspawn was taking her and whatever it intended, it couldn't be good. Elissa's mind started to conjure up images of the mutilated bodies they'd seen the darkspawn leave in their wake before she stopped herself, trying to squash down the terror that was beginning to gnaw at her insides.

She needed to concentrate on relevant facts and details  _only_ —no matter how disturbing.

The first and most pressing detail was that a darkspawn was dragging her by her ankle across the swampy Korcari Wilds.

A light rain had started to fall and the grass she was getting dragged over was wet. The darkspawn who held her made no effort to stick to any sort of path, and Elissa could feel the water seeping in between the cracks in her leather armor. Fortunately the act of being dragged had caused her satchel to get lifted up by her head, providing a sort of lumpy pillow and protecting her skull from being bounced and banged on every rock and stick she was dragged across. This was doubly good considering the sharp throbbing pain she felt at her right temple—a pain accompanied by a sticky wetness that could only be blood.

How serious her head injury was, she didn't quite know. She only knew that when she probed it with a feather light touch the pain intensified enough to make her stomach heave and the entire world go hazy.

So, it was a pretty bad injury, and she knew she needed to attend to it quickly if she was going to survive this encounter.

_Why bother?_

She didn't have the strength to crease her brow into a frown at the unwelcome voice, but if she had she would have scowled deeply at the traitorous sentiment.

_All dead. Must be._

She knew the voice probably spoke a simple truth but she also knew it would only paralyze her with fear if she let the message seep in. Still, it was hard not to think about the other recruits and Alistair, and— _Maker, where the hell was Prince?_ She couldn't believe her mabari was still alive . . . not if she'd been captured. He'd have done something, surely—

A painfully sharp rock scraped against her backside and she tensed involuntarily from the surprise before willing herself to go limp again. The darkspawn didn't react, so she let out a quiet breath in relief. It was better that the thing think she was still unconscious.

The shock was enough to stop her from worrying about the others and return her focus to her plan.

Her  _plan_ —that was a bit too ambitious a name for whatever it was she intended to do next. She only had a vague idea at the moment. She needed to  _think_  and she needed to do it soon—her chances of escaping her captor were best right now, before the thing had a chance to meet up with more of its kind.

So, first things first, she needed to drink a health potion. The pain in her head was too distracting, and she would need to be at her best.

She lowered her right arm until her hand was even with her face and she could slip it into the opening of her satchel where she fervently hoped she could find at least one more potion.

She closed her eyes as she tried to feel out the shapes within. She felt a scratchy sprig of elfroot that crumbled under her fingers, and then her hand found a cool glass vial and her heart surged with hope. She grasped it and slowly brought it out of her bag, opening her eyes to see if the darkspawn noticed her movements, not taking her eyes off it until her hand was in front of her face.

She looked at her prize and then felt her stomach sink. It wasn't a health potion. It was her fire bomb—something that could perhaps be useful in the future, but it wasn't immediately helpful now. She couldn't exactly throw it at the spawn and risk it bouncing back on to her. She'd be just as likely to set herself on fire.

Still, it could come in handy, so she slipped it into the right front pocket of her pants before plunging her hand back into her bag for another search. This time it only took a few seconds of grasping before she found another vial.

The darkspawn seemed completely oblivious to her movements, probably thinking she was too weak to wake up from the blow it'd given her. She risked moving a little more quickly, bringing the vial to her face and feeling a surge of relief at the sight of the red liquid within it.

She could probably conserve some of it by applying it topically, but the thought of the pain that would force her to endure ruled out that idea in favor of drinking it. The medium-sized vial might contain more healing than she really needed, but she planned to quaff the whole thing, nevertheless.

It was her head she was healing, after all.

The problem was she didn't think she'd be able to drink it without spilling it from her position on her back, and she really didn't want to waste a single drop of it.

So, new priority: she had to get free.

She moved the potion to her other hand and slipped it into her left front pocket. She needed to remember: health potion on the left, fire bomb on the right. Getting those mixed up would have dire consequences . . . the absurdity of  _that_  almost made her laugh, and the impulse frightened her because there was absolutely nothing humorous about her current predicament. She wondered if the inappropriate emotion were a result of her head injury, and  _that_  thought was scary enough to rid her of any lingering amusement.

Escape . . . that was her next step. She reached down to her left hip where her family sword hung from her belt only to find her hand met an empty sheath. She  _did_  frown then, and when her gaze traveled to the darkspawn who held her foot she just about snarled in rage when saw the Cousland family blade strapped to the creature's back.

Escape wasn't enough. She had to kill this bastard thing to get her sword back.

She took a deep breath and willed herself to think. She didn't know how much time she had, but she couldn't assume it was very much.

The darkspawn held her only by one ankle, and kind of loosely at that. She could probably unbend her other leg and deliver a swift kick to its hand to free herself before the thing noticed she was awake.

Probably.

But then what? She was weaponless, having dropped her crossbow back at the hill. She took mental stock of her supplies. She had some crossbow bolts in her quiver, and some poison left in her satchel. She could try stabbing it with a bolt, but she didn't feel very hopeful that she'd be able to deliver a killing blow through its armor before it was able to strike her down.

Though maybe it wanted her alive? It had hit her with its fist, she remembered, when it could have just as easily killed her with the large mace it wielded.

Still, she needed her sword back, and she doubted it would hesitate to kill her if she was nuisance enough. She couldn't count on it wanting her alive once she broke free.

She slipped her hand back into her satchel, hoping to find some key to her escape that had until now eluded her. She felt a few of her round tins containing balms that guarded against fire and ice—completely useless to her now.

Then her hand closed around a few small, square pieces of metal. She ran her thumb along the surface of one and felt the image stamped into it.

_Glamour charms . . ._

Her eyes widened with an idea. She pulled one of the charms out of her bag and held it in her hand, hesitating as she watched the darkspawn dragging her. She wasn't sure how strong the enchantment was—she would rather not alert the monster's attention to her wakefulness before the lure had a chance to work.

Maybe if she threw it, it'd get his attention and he'd drop her in pursuit of the shiny object. That would be ideal . . .

She took a deep breath, concentrated on a spot just above the darkspawn's left shoulder, and then threw the charm with a sharp flick of her wrist.

It sailed neatly over the 'spawn's shoulder, just exactly as she had hoped it would, but the monster didn't notice. It probably couldn't see it out of the eye slits of its helm, she realized, too late.

She let her head fall back down and stifled a frustrated sigh. She was going to have to take more drastic measures. She was betting her life on a stupid parlor trick, but she was out of options.

She reached into her bag and grabbed a couple of the charms before taking a deep breath and in as quick and smooth a motion as she could manage, brought her left leg up and delivered a swift, harsh kick to the hand that held her right ankle.

The darkspawn dropped her ankle immediately and Elissa wasted no time in scrambling backwards and then leaping to her feet. The world lurched horribly for a moment and she feared that she would black out, but she managed to steady herself. Through blinking eyes she watched the darkspawn whirl around and start toward her, lifting its mace overhead.

She held up a shaky hand, holding the gold charm between her thumb and forefinger, trying to get it to reflect as much light as possible to catch the monster's attention, feeling a little like a character holding up a symbol of Andraste in one of Oriana's Antivan vampire tales.

The monster froze and seemed to stare fixedly at the lure in her hand.

Her heart was pounding almost painfully in her chest as the darkspawn took another step toward her, growling with its enchanted desire for the charm. She held it up a few more seconds before deliberately throwing it to the right of the creature.

The monster whirled again and stumbled to its knees, pawing at the ground where the charm had landed. Elissa shoved the rest of the lures back in her bag and then jammed her hand down her left front pocket to retrieve the health vial.

She tried to calm herself and took a steadying breath before uncorking the vial and bringing it cautiously to her lips. She drank the whole thing, careful not to spill a drop, and even before she was finished drinking she felt the healing alchemy seep into her body. She closed her eyes. She could feel the skin begin to knit back together on the side of her head, a sensation that was at once both painful and pleasurable, before fading into an infuriating itch.

She opened her eyes, her mind suddenly feeling a thousand times clearer. The darkspawn was still pawing at the ground before it, looking for the charm.

The attraction spell on the charm would likely fade soon. Elissa had to act swiftly. She stepped lightly over to the darkspawn, feeling like a leaping dancer as she managed to grasp the sword and pull it off its back.

She didn't have any time to celebrate. The monster snapped out of the spell it was under and turned to face Elissa with a fearsome growl. The thing lunged and swung its mace in a wide over hand arc.

It must have been the suddenness of the attack that allowed her to react without thinking, because for once she didn't freeze at an imminent threat. Instead, she dodged in a move far more graceful and lithe than she would have thought herself capable.

The darkspawn stumbled at the end of his swing, his mace unexpectedly meeting nothing but air. She had time to dance a few steps backward before he came at her again. She was even more graceful with the next dodge, correctly reading his stance and the set of his body to predict where the mace would land and when.

It was a little exhilarating. She'd had no formal training, but she'd grown up with an older brother who was always bigger and stronger than her. And you can't grow up being the annoying know-it-all that she had been without learning how to dodge an attack or two from an exasperated older sibling.

She would never have predicted that such sibling antics would come in handy now, but they sure seemed to. The darkspawn came at her again several times, and each time his mace met only air, or the ground, or in once case a tree, as Elissa managed to dance around its attacks each time, never being where the thing expected her to be.

Eventually she would need to go on the offensive, she realized, because she doubted she could count on the thing tiring anytime soon. That was a tougher proposition. Her dancing dodges came naturally to her, but she always managed to move herself further _away_  from the creature, not close enough to actually attack it.

The thing was well armored, and the helm it wore covered its entire head, only leaving two small slits for the eyes. There was a small gap between the helm and the thing's chest armor where Elissa thought she might be able to deliver a killing blow if she were lucky.

She tried envisioning the steps she'd have to take, how she could move both away from the mace and in tight enough to get her blade under its chin. The monster sometimes raised its mace high overhead to swing at her in an overhand arc—that would provide her best opening. The move would require exact timing and speed. She'd be relying somewhat on the element of surprise. She just needed to get in the right position—

—she dodged a blow by rolling to her right, but instead of scrambling backwards and away she crouched, gripping her sword in her hand. The darkspawn recovered from the missed swing and saw the opportunity to end the battle. Like she hoped it would, the thing planted its feet and raised its mace high overhead in preparation for delivering the killing blow.

It was like time slowed down. She waited until  _just_  before the swing was at its apex to spring.

It was a leap that felt every bit like the proverbial leap of faith. She barreled into the thing's chest with such force that it actually stumbled and _fell_. She landed on top of it with a painful jolt, stunning the breath out of her and paralyzing her for a few precious seconds while she saw stars in her eyes.

It must have knocked the wind out of the darkspawn too, because it also needed a few seconds before it delivered an angry growl that startled Elissa out of her daze. She tightened her grip on her sword and brought up her right arm to deliver a killing blow to its neck when the thing suddenly shoved itself off the ground, tossing her aside like a rag doll.

The jolt of landing on the ground knocked her sword out of her hand and she again felt the breath knocked out of her lungs. She gasped for air as she lay on her back. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the darkspawn loom over her, and the shadow of its mace flitted across her face as it was raised once again overhead.

Some primal survival instinct flared alive in her, and not since she'd been cornered in her bedroom by an armed intruder had Elissa felt such an all-consuming imperative to  _survive_ , no matter what it took to do so.

She didn't think—she was guided purely by blind panic. She dug her right hand into the marshy Korcari soil and grabbed a wet clump of mud that she flung with all the force she could muster directly at the face of the hurlock.

It landed with a satisfying smack, clogging the small slits the horned helm had for eyeholes. The darkspawn staggered back, stunned by the sudden blindness.

She launched herself to her left, toward where she thought her sword had fallen, and scrambled around in the long grass looking for it for a few seconds before kicking it with her foot. She snatched it up with a grateful gasp, only to turn around and just narrowly avoid the wild swing the darkspawn made with its mace in her general direction.

She rolled back to her right again and prepared to dodge but saw instantly that the darkspawn was confused. She could tell by the way it cocked its head to the side that it really couldn't see much at all out of its helm, and she was struck with a sudden and exultant triumph. She was going to  _beat_  this thing, she realized for the first time with a gleeful sneer. They were fighting a battle to the death and she was going to sodding  _win it._

She glanced around quickly for something to throw and found a fist-sized rock. She crouched, careful not to make any sound, before tossing the rock past the darkspawn to its left.

Just as she planned, the monster started toward the sound, swinging its mace wildly as it did. She knew she only had a few seconds to act, so even before the thing had completed its first careening step in the direction of the sound she started moving, one goal intent on her fevered mind.

She was going to stab this foul creature in its blighted back.

She remembered her conversation with Alistair and felt utterly foolish for ever having doubted the practicality of it. Honor had no place in her survival,  _especially_  not where these mindless, disgusting creatures were concerned.

It was only a few light steps and she was upon it, thrusting her sword with all her might into the gap underneath the armor on its back. She was shocked at how easily the blade sliced through the flesh and muscle, and she'd plunged the thing in almost to the hilt when she realized she'd fully impaled the creature.

Her success was short lived, however, as instead of falling to the ground with a thud like she'd envisioned, the creature gave out a gruesome howl and whirled around, wrenching the sword out of Elissa's grasp before she could pull it back out.

She was almost too shocked to scramble away as he lunged at her in a few steps that belied what she  _had_  to believe was a fatal wound. She slipped and fell in the mud with a thwack, having to scrabble on her hands and feet backward in a crabwalk to get away from the beast that was still lurching at her.

Finally, the thing stopped and fell to its knees before collapsing face down into the muddy grass and lying completely still.

Elissa panted painfully from all the exertion of the last few minutes. As she stared at the black blood that began to seep in the mud around the darkspawn, she noticed how it seemed to taint and rot the very earth itself, turning the grass all around the creature a sudden dull shade of brown.

As her breathing slowed Elissa started to feel chilled. At first, it was just the fading heat of battle nerves—the come down from a battle to the death. But as she stared at the blood seeping into the ground a simple realization came to her that chilled her more than the cold Korcari wind ever could.

A manic part of her brain wanted to laugh at the absurdity. It was all so bloody  _obvious_. As someone who'd studied poisons only to learn their antidotes, she should have seen it right away. It was shameful that she hadn't.

She knew now, exactly why they were collecting the darkspawn blood, and how the Grey Wardens got their powers.

Maker's breath, they were going to  _drink_  it.


	8. Drink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair is desperate to find Elissa after she was captured by the darkspawn.

_I know everything you don't want me to.  
_ — _Poison and Wine,_ The Civil Wars

"Don't get too attached," some of the older wardens had warned him.

"Don't bother learning their names," others had said, even more bluntly.

They sounded callous, Alistair supposed, but he had understood their intent. Any new recruit's chances at surviving the Joining were dicey at best. It only made sense to remain a little detached—to not get  _too_  invested.

But the advice was utterly meaningless to him now, though it sprang to mind unheeded as he raced through the Korcari Wilds after Elissa's mabari. His legs and lungs ached from the effort, but he couldn't let himself slow down. There was a woman... a girl, practically, being hauled off by a darkspawn, and it was all his fault.

And though he knew it went against the general spirit of equality he felt inherent to the Warden's philosophy, the fact that she was a young woman? It mattered. It made it so much worse. Maybe it shouldn't have, and maybe he was antiquated and patronizing in his thinking, but when he imagined being too late to rescue Elissa, it did something awful to his insides.

It wasn't fair, but he supposed he couldn't help it. He'd always imagined himself to be a chivalrous fellow, if given the chance. He never had been given one, of course. Damsels in distress were nowhere to be found when he first began to think about girls and imagine such things. But, when the walls of the monastery closed in on him, and when he thought of the sterile loneliness of his future, it had always been so easy for him to conjure up romantic fantasies where he was the knight in shining armor, rescuing grateful ladies from the clutches of evil monsters and men.

The daydreams lacked the stomach curdling terror, he realized. Also notably absent? Failure. Dead women strung up by their necks by foul beasts or taken underground to the Deep Roads to have Maker knew what done to them... no, that little bit of realism was left out of his childhood fantasies.

Not that he thought of himself as a knight in shining armor now, of course. He was no knight, and his armor was decidedly unshiny. Nor was Elissa quite his vision of a damsel in distress, either. Other than being pretty, she really had nothing in common with the sweet yet defenseless maidens of his adolescent fantasies. 

She lacked the melee combat ability the rest of the recruits took for granted, but she was far from helpless. As far as Alistair was concerned, she deserved to be a Warden based on sheer pluckiness alone. Add to that the fact that she was smarter than the rest of them put together? Yeah, hardly a fainting flower.

Still, he couldn't help picture how small she looked compared to the rest of them, how awkward she seemed to be in her leather armor out here in the Wilds. He imagined how frightened she must be, not knowing where she was going or if anyone was coming to rescue her...

 _Maker, just let me find her,_  he prayed as he ran. All of her awful questions and observations about him didn't seem nearly so annoying now that he had to contemplate finding her corpse.

* * *

When he actually  _did_  find her, after rounding a bend and skidding to a halt at the sight of her, he couldn't keep himself from for falling to his knees in a breathless slump in front of her.

She sat in the mud, covered in blood. Her mabari hound hovered protectively at her side, having led Alistair straight to her.

"You're alive," he said in a hoarse voice. Now that he'd finally stopped moving, after what had felt like hours, the pain in his lungs sharpened. He'd been running at almost a full out sprint for far longer than he'd thought himself capable.

"So are you." Elissa's voice was low and full of something Alistair was too exhausted to recognize at the moment. After she spoke, Prince made a low whine in his throat and stared at him, and Alistair had to blink dumbly for several seconds before he could begin to piece together what happened.

He looked around. Just a few feet from them, the body of a hurlock alpha lay face down in the mud, a pool of its own blood forming underneath it. He turned back to Elissa and for the first time noticed the sword that lay across her lap. She gripped its pommel with her right hand, which was covered in mud up to the elbow.

"That's right. I killed it. All by myself."

It hurt to breathe, and his heartbeat was still thundering in his ears, so he thought at first that he imagined the bite in her tone, but then he looked at her face and saw her scowling at him. "Ok?" he asked after a few more seconds of blinking dumbly at her.

" _So_ ," she said, irritation dripping from her tone like water, "you were wrong about me. I'm not going to die out here in the Korcari Wilds." She glared at him in defiance.

"I never said that!"

"You didn't have to," she spit at him. "It was all over that  _. . . face_  of yours."

The way she paused and said 'face' made his cheeks burn like they were on fire.  _What the hell did that mean anyway?_  He opened his mouth several times to start to say something, only to shut it, at a loss for words. Finally, he shook his head. "Look, I have literally no earthly clue what you are going on about, I swear. But right now... I'm just happy you're alive. If it's just the same to you, I'd like to take a look at that brilliant head of yours and make sure your brains aren't leaking out of it. If I have your permission?" He held up his hands in a supplicating gesture. "Please?"

Elissa continued to give him a hard stare, while Prince moved his massive head back and forth, looking at the two of them. Alistair got the distinct impression that the hound was torn between his loyalty and his concern for his mistress. Prince gave out a low whine and stared at Elissa, and Alistair felt an unexpected rush of gratitude that the dog seemed to side with  _him._ Surely, she would be reasonable.

But of course, she wasn't. "No," she said shaking her head and frowning. "I'm fine. I drank a potion." She started to stand, but her face went deathly white and her eyes started to roll back in her head.

He reached out with alarm, grabbing her by her shoulders and giving her a gentle shake. "Stay with me, Elissa." Prince must've truly been on his side now, because he allowed it without reprimand, again filling Alistair with a weird sort of relief and gratitude. _He's not so bad after all._

She grabbed at his arms and steadied herself, before glancing up at him with a guilty look and slowly sinking back down to sit in the mud. She let go of his arms and sat up straight. Taking a deep breath, she looked at him again and gave a curt nod.

Relief washed over him as he reached for his water skin. She could pester him with whatever crazy questions she wanted to once he saw to her injuries. He wasn't about to let her fall unconscious now—the amount of blood smeared onto the side of her head and hair told him that she'd taken a pretty nasty blow.

Head wounds were tricky—you could think someone was alright, and then they went to sleep and never woke up.

"I'm going to pour this over that gash in your head," he said. "It might sting."

"It's alright. Go ahead."

He took off his gauntlets, pulling at the fingers with his teeth, and then took the cap off his waterskin. Leaning forward, he took hold of her chin with one hand before lifting the waterskin above her head and slowly pouring it down the side of her face.

She squeezed her eyes shut and gave a hiss of pain as the water ran down, but she didn't try to pull her head out of his hand.

It felt strangely intimate, lightly touching the side of her face to spread the poultice over her wound. The gash ran from just above her right temple to end in the middle of one thick dark, eyebrow. He thought it might leave a scar, and opened his mouth to say so but, realizing that he didn't want to upset her, snapped it back shut.

As he worked, he puzzled over her accusations, wondering what it was that had gotten her so upset with him. He was too relieved to find her alive to let it bother him much, however and besides, she'd obviously been through a lot and had a head injury to boot. He had half convinced himself that it was just the mad ravings of a frightened, injured girl lashing out at the nearest target when she spoke up again.

"You should admit it," she said, quietly. "You  _did_ think I was going to die out here."

He stopped applying the poultice and looked at Elissa, and just then became aware of how close their faces were... which only made the moment more awkward. He looked away and sat back on his heels, wiping his hand on the grass. After a moment he looked at her again and frowned, shaking his head at her. "No, I  _didn't_."

She stared at him, examining his face—looking for Maker knew what—until her expression changed. "You're telling the truth," she said, eyebrows knit together. Her gaze strayed to the body of the hurlock alpha lying nearby, before freezing, and getting that look on her face. 

_Oh no. Not that one..._

"It's the Joining," she said in a whisper, turning back to him. "It's fatal isn't it? Or it can be, I mean? That's it isn't it? That's why you kept giving me that look. . ."

There was the hint of smile playing on her lips and her brow had lost the scowl Alistair was beginning to think lived there permanently, but it was hard to enjoy her sudden change of demeanor when all he could think about was how she most emphatically was not supposed to know that.

"You got all that from a look?" he said weakly, knowing the joke wouldn't deter her but helpless to come up with any better response. He avoided looking at her and started putting his supplies back in his pack.

"Yes," she said, in all seriousness. He risked looking up at her. Yep. The scowl was back. "You should better learn to school your face."

And that was just absurd enough to make him bark out a laugh. He shook his head. "I should . . .  _what_?"

"I can tell everything you think just by looking at your face," she said coolly. "You should work on that."

He rolled his eyes and started to stand up. "Thanks for the advice," he said with a smirk, only to find the serious look she gave him next took his breath away from him again.

"I know what the darkspawn blood is for."

He sank back down with a thud, feeling his breath leave him in an audible whoosh. _Of_ _course_   _she figured it out_. He'd been dreading this moment since she'd started grilling him about the Wardens.

"We're going to drink it, aren't we?"

And there it was. Was there any point in denying it? "Yes."

They were both surprised at his ready answer. She looked at him with her mouth framed into an 'O' for a few seconds before she went on in a rush. "That's how you get your immunity from their corruption—and that's how you sense them. You drink it, and it changes you. Makes you more... like them, or something."

It was getting kind of cold, kneeling there in the mud. They should get up, head back and find the others, some distant part of his mind intoned. But he was stuck... it was as if the Korcari mud had glued him to the ground. "Yes."

She seemed taken back by his readiness to answer, but what was the point in trying to hide it anymore? She'd figured it out, and there was nothing he could do about it now.

She frowned at him for several long moments before turning to the body of the darkspawn and biting her lip. "But you must mix it with something," she said—more to herself than to him, it seemed.

"Lyrium," he provided, and she again turned to look at him in surprise. "And Archdemon blood. And some other stuff I don't know about."

He thought for a moment she would ask him why—why now provide answers when before he would only obfuscate? But she apparently thought better than to question it.

"You went through this Joining ritual?" she asked, turning her head to look at him out of the corner of her eye.

"Yeah."

They sat there in a long silence contemplating each other. Finally, Alistair shrugged at the darkspawn. "So are you going to get your vial or what?"

Slowly she reached into her bag and retrieved the small vial. She held it in her palm, rolling it back and forth a few times before looking up at him again. "How many in yours?"

He didn't have to ask what she meant. "There were three of us."

"And how many . . . did anyone—"

"One of us didn't make it," he said quietly.

He heard the breath she gave out at that, the long exhale that turned into an audible sigh. "One in three..."

And then, the worst possible thing in the world happened.

Elissa Cousland started to cry.

He felt the blood drain out of his face and his mouth went dry. Funny, in all the advice he'd heard before meeting his recruits, not a single warden had told Alistair what to do when a pretty girl burst into tears in front of him. He was completely out of his depth.

He looked at Prince in a helpless appeal, but the hound just lay there, resting his head on his paws and looking up at him with those big, sad puppy dog eyes. As if Alistair knew what to do and could make it better.

Elissa was a mess, burying her face in her hands and shaking with full body sobs. He felt an overwhelming impulse to do just about anything get her to stop crying, but he had little experience with this kind of situation. Instinctively he wanted to reach out and wrap his arms around her, but he barely knew her! And she was prickly and standoffish at the best of times. The gesture seemed a far too familiar one for someone like him to pull off.

The last thing he wanted to do was make things worse.

He watched her for several painful seconds, paralyzed with indecision. In the end he decided that it came down to this: was he the type of man who could sit still while a young woman cried in front of him or wasn't he?

He reached out and grasped one of her shoulders, and it felt small and delicate under his too-large hand. Still, she seemed to calm at the contact, and he took that as an encouraging sign. He gulped, and then gave her shoulder a tiny squeeze. "Don't... don't cry."

She gave a few hiccuping breaths and removed her hands from her face, staring down at the ground in front of him. "You must think I'm such a coward," she said in a voice of quiet misery.

Elissa? A  _coward_? No, he'd never describe her as such, not in a million years and he started to tell her so, but he stopped himself instead and just looked at her. Suddenly, all the fear and self-doubt that had hid just beneath the surface of her know-it-all bravado seemed so glaringly and painfully obvious. _Stupid to have missed it._

He gave her shoulder another squeeze and bent his head down to try and catch her gaze. "You know," he said, once he caught it. "That wasn't just an ordinary darkspawn that you killed."

She seemed at war with herself for a few seconds, until she finally gave in and said, "Really?"

He let his hand drop to his side and gestured with his chin at the corpse. "Yeah, they're like their leaders. They're tougher... stronger, more intelligent than the other ones." He nodded at Elissa. "And you killed one. All by yourself. So, no. I don't think Duncan made a mistake in recruiting you."

He didn't think he imagined the blush that crept up her cheeks at his words, and it gave his heart an unexpected little leap.  _Maker_ 's  _breath_ , he was failing miserably at the whole not-getting-invested thing, wasn't he?

Before she could answer, he reached in his pocket and fished out a piece of metal. He looked up to see her watching him, and gave her a crooked smile as he leaned forward, holding out the charm in his hand. "I found this... I knew you were alive."

She extended her hand and he pressed the metal into her palm. She exhaled what might've been a little laugh, rubbing her finger over the little charm. After a moment she took a deep breath and looked up at him, giving him her first smile since he'd found her sitting here in the mud. "I used one of these on it," she said, sounding strangely shy.

"Really?" he said, rising to his feet and then extending a hand to her.

She looked at it, seeming consider whether it was worth the risk, he supposed, before she finally grabbed it and rose to her feet. "Yes." She took a few steps over to the darkspawn and stared down at it. "Do you want to hear how I did it?" 

"Sure."

She told him as she filled her vial with the darkspawn's blood and he collected his things. At first she spoke haltingly, but by the time they'd started walking back to the others she had become more animated, even reaching out and touching his arm at one point.

"I don't know how I was able to do it," she said, sounding honestly baffled but also a bit proud. "But I just... I just always knew where not to be, and so I wasn't there when the mace landed."

"Nice work," he told her, and he meant it. As confusing and frustrating as their reunion had been, seeing her eyes shine as she told him about her clever escape was pretty rewarding, Alistair decided.

"I'm sorry," she said suddenly. "For snapping at you earlier... about your face."

"You know, you keep talking about my face like that and I'm going to develop a complex."

"What? Don't be ridiculous, I don't mean it like that." She rolled her eyes. "I just mean... you have an expressive face, and it's not... it's not a bad thing to be guileless."

He raised an eyebrow. "Guileless?

"I'm sorry," she said, shaking her head. "Guileless just means honest. Basically you lack the ability to lie—"

"I know what guileless means, Elissa."

"Oh. Yes, of course you do. How silly of me." He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. She rubbed her neck and looked up at the sky, an expression of helplessness etched over her still blushing face.

He had to suppress a chuckle. "It's... it's fine. I've just never heard myself described that way, is all."

"Really?" 

"Yeah, well at the monastery where I grew up... that wasn't exactly my reputation." He flashed her what he hoped was one of his most mischievous and disarming grins.

"Oh yes, the monastery.  _Of_   _course._ " His didn't miss the way she said that, and an odd but sudden dread overtook him. "You shouldn't feel guilty about it. You can't help it."

He gave a big, resigned sigh and returned his gaze to the forest in front of him. "And what exactly can't I help?"

"You haven't spent a lot of time with women your own age, have you?"

He had thought he was prepared for any bizarre question she might throw at him at this point, but this one surprised him enough to make him choke out a cough. After he recovered, he shook his head. "I... no, most of the sisters at the monastery were much older," he explained, not really sure why _._  Obviously she had some point she was going to make, and he guessed it was just easier not to fight it. It's not like staying quiet would stop her. "And there aren't any women in the Grey Wardens."

"Yes, a topic you seem to be a bit obsessed with."

"I... I'm hardly _obsessed._  I mentioned it once—"

"—to wonder at their lack, yes I remember. It's rather obvious though isn't it?"

Apparently they'd stopped sometime during this little discussion, but Alistair didn't remember when. He shook his head and tried not to laugh—he wasn't even sure why he found her so funny. It just struck him as deeply amusing that his damsel in distress had turned out to be quite this annoying, he supposed. "What's rather obvious?"

She gave a shrug. "Fereldens may boast of their battle maidens, but at the end of the day fathers are less inclined to send their daughters to battle than their sons, aren't they?"

Her expression turned somber, and Alistair was reminded of the tragedy she'd only just been through. It was disturbingly easy to forget—so much about her was odd or amusing—but she was probably still reeling from the loss. "I guess that's true."

"It's why you're so concerned about me. You're not prepared to watch a woman die in front of you."

She said it plainly, without accusation, and Alistair couldn't help but shrug. "Sorry," he muttered, feeling exposed. It was weird having her read him so completely.

"It's alright," she said. "It's kind of nice actually." She took a deep breath and went on. "I won't tell the others. About the Joining."

"That's... thank you," he said, and they resumed walking. After a few more minutes of silence he risked a glance at her. She looked lost in her thoughts. "Wouldn't it be easier not to know?"

She shook her head. "No, knowing is always better. Now that I know what the Joining is, I don't have to waste time worrying about it. Besides," she said, looking at him out of the corners of her eyes. "You learned a valuable lesson."

"I did, did I? What lesson did I learn?"

"You learned you can't keep secrets from me," she said, and her mouth curved into a mischievous—and very disarming—grin of her own.

They had stopped again. At this pace, they would never reach the others, he thought numbly. But, he found himself a bit lost in her smile at the moment, so he didn't really care. He hadn't been paying attention to the meaning of her words, however, and was caught completely unaware when she leaned over and looked at him from beneath her lashes. "You don't have any more secrets to hide, do you?"

Finally, what she said sunk in and he couldn't help the look of astonishment that came over his face—his eyes went wide and he hurriedly looked away, but hearing the little gasp  _that_ elicited, he knew he'd just given himself away.

"You  _do_!" Her voice held a note of triumph in it, and when he looked at her again she was staring up at him in wonder, the delight at discovering he was hiding something else plainly evident in her wide shining eyes.

He looked away and stifled a groan. "I don't know what you mean," he said with a voice that sounded unconvincing even to himself.

"Yes, you do," she said in a singsong voice, before she caught herself and gasped. "Oh, you're upset," she said, her tone abruptly changing to one of remorse. She held up her hands in placating gesture. "I'm sorry... I'll just, try not think about it."

"You will?" He gave her a doubtful look.

She shrugged. "I'm  _going_ to figure it out. But I'll try to delay it as long as possible."

The look she gave him with that was pure sincerity, and then he laughed, unable to stop himself. "I suppose that's the best deal I can get, is it?"

She didn't seem offended by his laughing, but gave a little nod. "It is. I'm glad you're being agreeable."

"Right. Because _I'm_ the one who has been so disagreeable."

She went on like he hadn't spoken. "And I promise, when I figure it out, I won't tell anyone else."

He snorted a laugh. "You know, I don't have some deep dark secret. It's... it's no big deal. It's nothing  _bad—_ "

"Oh I know," she said with a shrug. "You're perfectly harmless."

He pretended to be offended and put his hand over his heart. " _Hey_ , I can be dangerous."

"I know," she said, stepping up to him and pressing her hand onto his. She gave it a little squeeze. "But not to me."

She walked away and he stared after her a moment, unconsciously rubbing his fingers over the top of his hand where he'd felt her fingertips press.

* * *

If Alistair had any interest in learning how to "school his face" he could find no better teacher than Elissa Cousland, he realized soon after watching her rejoin the others. She was true to her word, and acted for all the world like she didn't know anything about the secret ritual. He had to hand it to her: she knew how to keep a secret.

She acted differently in other ways, too. He watched as she confidently related her escape to the other two men (leaving out some of the details and enthusiasm she'd included when she told him, he couldn't help but notice) and then proceeded to lead them the rest of the way to the treaties. Somehow, in such a short amount of time, the group dynamics shifted so that the three men found themselves turning to Elissa to speak for them when the Wilds woman appeared and told them the treaties were gone.

He'd been agitated at their removal, and deeply suspicious of the Wilds woman, but Elissa's lack of patience intersected nicely with her quick mind, and she briskly negotiated the return of the treaties from the woman's old mother. It was impressive how aggressively she got the two women to get to their respective points, and Alistair couldn't help feeling thankful that she'd come along.

"So what do you think about those two?" Daveth asked.

Alistair looked up to see both Jory and Daveth staring intently at Elissa, as they walked away from where Morrigan had left them. He smiled at how the two men seemed to hang on her answer. Whatever she told them, they'd believe it as the Maker's given truth, he realized.

He supposed he would too.

She just gave a shrug. "Apostates, certainly. Beyond that? Who cares?" she answered, and they all let the matter drop, content that she was right and that the two women didn't matter much in the grand scheme of things.

* * *

It was easy for him to forget the tearful girl he'd found in the Wilds when she stood before Duncan and the rest of them, so self-assured and peaceful as the Warden Commander explained the details of the Joining ritual.

In fact, he didn't even realize that all that confidence and bravado had again been just a mask until he watched as she raised the cup to her lips, eyes darting to the bodies of the two men who'd died before her.

It cracked, finally, at first with just a stutter of emotion, before fully dissolved into pure panic and blind fear. She licked her lips and looked from Duncan to Alistair several times, not quite able to bring the cup up.

Alistair started to sweat. He'd been confident that she wouldn't balk at this, but as he watched her descend into fear he wondered if he'd been wrong.

"Elissa," he hissed and her eyes snapped to his. "Just drink it." His tone was gentle but insistent.

She kept her eyes on him and took a deep breath before lowering her lashes to look at the cup. She raised it up and he thought for sure she would drink it then, but she stopped and his heart lurched in his chest.

He couldn't help glancing at Duncan. The Warden Commander stood still as stone beside him, his own face an impenetrable mask. One hand rested lightly on his sword, but he made no move to draw it—not yet.

He turned back to her to find her staring at him. Before he could urge her to drink again she spoke.

"Alistair, if I don't make it . . . please . . . please tell Fergus about Howe? And . . . my shield?" She pleaded with him, her eyes twin pools of misery.

He gave her a smile, though he knew it didn't reach his eyes. "You'll tell him yourself," he said. He wasn't sure he believed it but felt happy for saying it. It seemed the right thing.

She took another deep breath and then brought the cup to her lips and drank.

Alistair held his breath.


	9. Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elissa's mind is in chaos after learning she'll be participating in a battle tonight after all.

_If I show you then I know you  
Won't tell what I said  
'Cause two can keep a secret  
If one of them is dead  
_ — _Secret_ , The Pierces

She lived.

Her utter relief and surprise at this particular fact allowed her to feel a moment of acute happiness. It was as unexpected as it was brief—almost as soon as Alistair (he had smiled in relief, she couldn't help but notice) had given her an amulet with a pendant full of darkspawn blood in it, Duncan informed her of two more surprising things, killing her good mood before it really got started.

The king was holding a meeting about tactics for the upcoming battle. He had requested her presence.

Also, the battle would be that very night.

Elissa stared at the two wardens in front of her, feeling defeated. She was going to die tonight after all.

* * *

Elissa couldn't  _think_.

This was a problem, as she had quite a few things to think about, and none more pressing than the battle plan laid out by Teyrn Loghain.

She tried to concentrate—tried to envision the battlefield using the map spread out before the king as her guide. She saw where the Teyrn's men would be stationed. She saw the Tower of Ishal, where the beacon would be lit. But her eyes kept straying back to the middle—the front lines—where the king said that he and the Grey Wardens would fight.

_I need more bolts. And poison. Traps. Potions..._

She wasn't ready for this. It didn't take military training to see that their position would see the most dangerous fighting in the entire battle. How could she expect to survive this? She couldn't. There was no way...

"—send Alistair and the new Grey Warden to make sure it's done."

Elissa's gaze focused and she looked up at the king sharply. Did she hear him right? He wanted her and Alistair to light the beacon?

She became acutely aware of the group's collective gaze falling on her. For the first time since she'd arrived, she noticed the presence of a Circle mage and a Revered Mother.  _When did they get here_? Maker, she was thinking so slowly. This wasn't like her. She swallowed and tried to appear braver than she felt.  _Duncan must have told the king about me_ , she realized with a jolt. This was a great kindness—keeping her out of the battle, with an escort no less. That was far better than what she'd expected.

"If it's not a dangerous task, I can do it myself," she said, her voice sounding thin and shrill to her own ears.

"No, it's best if you both go."

She felt a wave of warm relief.  _I'll spend the battle by Alistair and Prince_. "As you wish."

Before she could figure out how to thank the king, Loghain spoke up. "You rely on these Grey Wardens too much. Is that truly wise?"

Cailan was having none of Loghain's doubts. "Enough of your conspiracy theories, Loghain. Grey Wardens battle the Blight, no matter where they're from."

There was a distant part of her mind that blinked awake at the words "conspiracy theories" but her relief had the same effect as an elixir, dulling her faculties and disallowing more thought than was required to stand there in grateful but obedient silence.

She could still observe, however. She saw the flicker of annoyance that danced over Loghain's face at Cailan's reprimand.

Her heart leaped to her throat when the mage stepped forward to volunteer his Circle's abilities for the beacon lighting task. Fortunately, the Revered Mother interrupted, thundering her disapproval. Elissa couldn't help feeling grateful for the Chantry woman's prejudices—if she wasn't needed for lighting the beacon, she'd probably end up on the front lines—but she had the grace to feel a little guilty about it.

"Enough! This plan will suffice. The Grey Wardens will light the beacon." There was something there, in the way Loghain said  _Grey Wardens..._ she could hear it but not identify it.

She put it out of her mind as they went on about the glorious battle to come, too relieved to care much for the interpersonal drama that was evidently playing out between the king and his father-in-law.

She had to practically jog to keep up with the long strides the Warden Commander made on the way back to the Warden campfire. As they walked, Elissa glanced around the camp and noted how different it looked from when she had arrived.  _Had that really only been this morning?_ It seemed a lifetime ago, but she hadn't even had a day to get used to the idea of being a Warden before she was thrown headlong into meetings over tactics and special assignments.

It felt surreal.

So it was grounding, somewhat, to see Alistair's friendly face when they finally made it back. She was a little out of breath but she returned his smile gratefully, thinking again how lucky she was to have him as her fellow Warden. He'd been nothing but kind to her since she'd met him, and after a little bit of wariness, Elissa had come to accept that he was generally what he presented himself to be.  _Save for one little secret._

She forced the thought out of her mind as Alistair stepped forward to greet them. She had promised, after all.

"Here," he said, handing her a shield.

She took it and had to blink several times at it before it registered. "This is my shield... the Shield of Highever. You got it back?"

"I scrounged up enough coin and loot from our trip through the Wilds to barter for it."

She stared down at the shield in her hands with her mouth open, struck speechless at his generosity. He barked a laugh and she looked up to find him grinning down at her. "What?" 

"It's just nice to see  _you_ with that look on your face, for a change."

His smirk made her blush yet again, but she tried to ignore it. "This was... really very kind of you," she said, suddenly serious. "My brother  _will_  repay you—"

He raised his hands in a gesture meant to cut her off. "We'll worry about that later. I just thought you might like to have that back."

"Yes, that was very thoughtful," Duncan cut in, and they both turned their heads to look at the Warden Commander. He stood in front of them with his hands held together behind his back—an official looking stance and expression to let them know it was time to pay attention.

They both stiffened and turned to give the Warden Commander their attention.

"You heard the king," Duncan said, nodding at Elissa. "You and Alistair will go to the Tower of Ishal and ensure the beacon is lit."

Alistair's reaction was immediate. "What?" he sputtered. "I won't be in the battle?"

Elissa gripped the shield in her hands and looked at the ground. She hadn't thought about how he might feel about this assignment. It was stupid of her not to have seen it. Of course, he would want to be on the front lines with the rest of the Wardens he'd known as brothers for half a year, rather than spend the battle babysitting some helpless noblewoman who pestered him with annoying questions.

"This is by the king's personal request, Alistair. If the beacon is not lit, Teyrn Loghain's men won't know when to charge." Duncan's tone was gentle, but firm.

Alistair wasn't so easily cowed, however. "So he needs two Grey Wardens standing up there holding the torch. Just in case, right?"

Elissa was a little taken aback at Alistair's impudence. "Let me guess," she said, cocking an eyebrow up at him. "You got in trouble for insubordination a lot in the Chantry, didn't you?"

For a second and Elissa thought he was going to be cross with her, but then he barked out a laugh and raised his own eyebrow back at her. "How'd you guess?"

Duncan interrupted their exchange. "We must do whatever it takes to destroy the darkspawn . . . exciting or no."

Alistair heaved a dramatic sigh. "I get it. I get," he said, waving his hands in surrender. "Just so you know, if the king ever asks me to put on a dress and dance the Remigold, I'm drawing the line. Darkspawn or no."

 _What a ridiculous notion._ "That's a  _highly_  unlikely request," Elissa said, before catching herself.  _Oh, he's joking._

Alistair looked at her uncertainly for a second before laughing. "I happen to be quite fetching in a dress."

She rolled her eyes and turned back to Duncan, unsure why a stupid smile kept fighting its way onto her lips. _I'm just relieved, is all._ If he could joke about it, he must not be that bitter. She had been worried that he would resent her for keeping him out of the fight.

Duncan gave a loud and long-suffering sigh before shaking his head and getting back to business. He explained the specifics of their mission: the tower was just beyond the great bridge near the entrance of the war camp. They'd have less than an hour to get there and light the beacon, once they saw the signal from the troops on the front line that they were ready for Loghain's charge.

After he confirmed that they were ready, he bade them goodbye. "Remember," he said, again in the gentle but stern tone he had, "you are both Grey Wardens. I expect you to be worthy of that title."

Elissa nodded mutely in response. She still wasn't quite convinced she  _was_  worthy of that title, but she felt for the first time a real sense of urgency that she  _become worthy_  of it, somehow.

"Duncan . . . May the Maker watch over you," Alistair said with, his expression uncharacteristically solemn.

"May He watch over us all."

They both stood there a few moments, watching Duncan stalk away from them, until Elissa turned to him. "Alistair—"

"Let's just get to the tower," he interjected, looking over in the direction of the bridge they would have to cross. "It may not be the most glamorous job, but we'd best not dawdle."

He started to walk away, but she reached out and grabbed his arm. He stopped and looked down at her, a flash of irritation flickering across his features.

"I just want a quick word," she said, letting her hand return to the shield she held in front of her. "Please."

He pinched the bridge of his nose for a few seconds before pulling his hand away and fixing her with a calm but resigned expression. "Of course. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude. What do you want to ask me about?

She knelt down and placed the shield at her feet, trying to think of what to say. The words seemed to stick in her throat. She was never that good at apologizing.

"I'm... sorry," she said as she stood back up. She went on in a rush, looking at her feet the whole while. "I know you'd much rather be with the other Wardens on the front lines but I just... I wanted to let you know that I'm sorry you're forced to look after me, but I'm incredibly grateful to have you along."

He was silent for several seconds after her outburst. "Oh," he said. "That." He turned away a moment, and then looked back at her with an expression she couldn't quite read. "Don't worry about that. It's not your fault. Really." With that, he seemed to consider the matter closed. "Shall we? If we stick around here too long you won't be able to swing a dead cat without hitting a darkspawn." He gave her a crooked grin and gestured in the direction they had to walk.

Elissa blinked up at him. There was something here. Something in the way he said that, just then. _It's not your fault. Really._ He sounded awfully sure of that. "So whose fault is it then?" she asked, watching him closely.

His eyes widened ever so slightly at her flat tone, only to narrow again at her a moment later. He stared back at her and she at him, until their stares turned into a standoff of some kind, with neither party willing to blink for several seconds.

And then Alistair sighed again, and she knew she was on to  _something_. Just then, one of the last rays of sun managed to escape the grim, ever present Korcari clouds to filter down across his face, bathing him in golden light.

"Oh, oh my god," she said in whispered awe. The way the light played on his hair made it look golden. The resemblance was unmistakable. "You're Maric's bastard!"

Alistair's eyes went wide for real, and he looked around before taking a step closer to her and grabbing her by the arm. "A little louder, if you would? I think there are some soldiers on the other side of camp that didn't hear you!"

 _Louder? Why would he? Oh, right..._ Elissa felt her cheeks grow warm at his irritable sarcasm. She wasn't used to people speaking to her that way. "I'm sorry!" she snapped, jerking her arm out of his grasp. "I tried not to think about it! I honestly did. It's not my fault you look just like him." She looked up at him in awe again. "I mean really! If you grew your hair out... you two could be twins."

Alistair's face turned a deep shade of red. "That's... no, that's  _not.._. we don't look that much alike!" 

"Yes, you do!" She insisted, stepping closer. She turned her head to the side and tried to lean around him to scrutinize his face. "I mean, your profile is almost exactly alike. Very similar bone structure."

She was near enough to him to feel his breath on her face when he sighed in exasperation. "It is not," he said, glaring down at her, his jaw working as if he were clenching his teeth together.

She took a step back. "I don't understand why you are so upset. King Cailan is widely regarded as being quite good-looking by Fereldan standards."

That didn't seem to make him feel better. He shook his head at her in mute anger before turning deliberately away from her.

"It's true!" she said, moving so that she stood in front of him again. She made a wide gesture with her arms. "Ask any woman in this camp if they find the king physically attractive, and I'll bet you ninety-percent—"

"Enough!" He raised his hands up. "Please, just...  _stop_."

Her mouth snapped closed and she looked at her feet. "I'm sorry," she muttered.

After a few seconds she heard him exhale noisily. "It's fine. It's not your fault. Look, we can talk all about my thrilling parentage later if you want, but for now, let's just stick to our mission, alright?"

She nodded. "Of course," she said, and he turned to go. She bent down to pick up her shield and then stood.

_This connects somehow..._

She froze at her own inner voice—sometimes it felt like it came from somewhere else, but Elissa knew it was really just some deeper, more attentive part of herself. There was a part of her mind that, no matter what she was doing, or saying, or feeling, was constantly sifting through her observations to find connections that others might miss. "Wait."

Alistair turned to look at her. "What is it now?"

She went still. She couldn't quite bring herself to answer—not yet. She had to think.  _You rely on these Grey Wardens too much._ Another voice in her mind. She'd caught the note in the Teyrn's voice when he'd said  _Grey Wardens_  but she hadn't had the chance to properly interpret it. Until now...

Now she remembered. He'd said Grey Wardens in  _exactly_  the same tone of voice he'd used when he said  _Orlesian._

The air around her seemed to chill. She was overwhelmed with a feeling—she hated to categorize it as such, but there was no mistaking the sensation she experienced as anything but strong emotion--it was trembling anticipation... almost dread. She was just about to figure something out.

Something big.

She only had to open herself up to it, and the connections would be made. As she stared at Alistair, she realized that it began and ended with him.

"Does Loghain know?" 

Alistair rolled his eyes. "I don't know. It's not relevant. Can we please just—"

"I will decide if it is relevant!" she screeched at him. She sounded  _crazy_ , but she had to make him understand that this was important. "I'm sorry," she began again in a steadier tone. "Please, Alistair. You know me... well you don't know me at all, not really, but I think you know me enough to know that you should probably listen if I tell you something is important."

He stared down at her. After a moment, his shoulders drooped and he gave her a resigned nod. "Alright, fine. Does Loghain know? I don't know. It's fairly likely. He and Maric were friends after all."

She had to assume he knew. She felt her heartbeat speed up as the links became clearer. She licked her lips. "Alright, you said you were recruited six months ago? Was there a tournament?"

He frowned at her and looked like he might object for a second before he decided against it. "Yeah," he said curtly.

"And did you win this tournament?" Elissa asked.

His mouth set into a grim line and he crossed his arms. "I don't like what you're insinuating," he said. "That Duncan only recruited me because of who I am—"

"Did you  _win this tournament_?"

In the face of her agitation he relented. "No," he said at last, turning and not meeting her gaze anymore. The part of her that would feel guilty about that felt distant and remote—she was too focused to trouble herself at the Templar's hurt feelings. At least for now. "So Cailan," she said, thinking aloud, "a man who by everyone's description cares only for glory and honor on the battlefield, actually has the forethought to protect the line of succession in case this battle doesn't go as planned."

"No," Alistair spoke up heatedly. "I mean, maybe. But I don't think that I'm really in line—"

"Shhhh!" she shushed him violently, knowing that she appeared even crazier than before, waving her arms and practically spitting everywhere, but she had to get him to stop talking. "I need to think. Be quiet!"

She was numbly aware that he glared down at her but she ignored him. "Alright, so maybe Cailan isn't as vainglorious as he appears," she went on, starting to pace a few steps from where she stood and back. "He also kept Eamon's troops in reserve—a move I thought indicated bravado, but maybe it's a type of caution as well. If we fail here, there would still be men left to continue fighting..."

She stopped in her tracks and frowned at the ground. "But Cailan doesn't really believe this is a Blight." She remembered both Loghain and Cailan's dismissal when Duncan had brought up the possibility of the Archdemon appearing during the battle. "So, if Cailan doesn't believe this is a Blight... what is he afraid of?"

Alistair groaned. "Elissa, please, if you're attempting to find any logic at all within that man's brains, you're going to be sorely disappointed."

She stared at him, not really paying attention. She heard the word 'brains' though...

The original mystery of hers... her recruitment. Why did Duncan want her brainpower? What did Cailan fear?

"Conspiracy theories," she said aloud, feeling the color drain from her face. She felt like she should drop into a boneless pile at her feet, the sinking feeling was so intense.

"Conspiracy theories?"

Her certainty felt like a lead weight in her gut. "Oh my god," Elissa whispered. "It's Loghain."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"It's  _Loghain!_ " she said again, practically shouting. She turned around wildly, not really seeing anything as she spun. "We have to find the king! And Duncan! We have to warn them!" 

Alistair grabbed her by both arms to stop her. "Elissa! What in the... what are you talking about? Warn them about what?"

She grasped his shoulders. "Don't you get it?" she hissed. "Loghain is going to betray us all!"

Alistair stared down at her after her proclamation, and she could only imagine how outrageous she must look, all wild-eyed and red-faced. "You're insane," he said, letting go of her arms.

"Let me explain," she said, letting go of his shoulders and trying to collect herself. She began again, trying not to talk too quickly. "Loghain loathes and fears Orlais more than any other threat to Ferelden—including the darkspawn. He doesn't know what we know. He doesn't realize the Blight is really upon us."

Alistair crossed his arms over his chest. "Go on."

She took a deep breath. "Duncan told me, as did you, that the Wardens haven't exactly received a warm welcome since they were allowed to return." He nodded his agreement on that point and she went on. "There are many that still view the organization suspiciously, given the reasons they were kicked out of Ferelden in the first place—"

Alistair twirled his hand in a circle. "I know this part, Elissa. Get to the part where Loghain betrays us," he said under his breath, sparing a quick glance around.

"Alright... during the meeting with the king, I noticed how suspicious Loghain seemed about the Wardens. When he objected to you and I lighting the beacon, the king told him he'd had enough of his 'conspiracy theories'."

She looked at Alistair and waited for him to make the leap. When he just continued staring at her she gave a frustrated sigh and went on. "Conspiracy theories! Don't you get it? Don't you see? This is why I was recruited... to ferret out just this kind of betrayal!" She stepped closer, pleading with her eyes for him to understand, to  _listen_. The more she talked, the more convinced she became. "Loghain thinks the Wardens are in cahoots with Orlais!" 

Alistair's jaw set and he shook his head. "That can't possibly be true..."

"It is! I know it is. Think about it. Cailan asked Orlais for assistance in battling the Blight... but Loghain doesn't think the Blight is real. He thinks the Wardens are plotting with Orlais to get their hooks into Ferelden again! And what does the  _foreign_  Warden Commander do?" She pointed a finger at his chest. "He recruits another possible heir to the throne! How do you think that looked to Loghain?"

For the first time Elissa thought she saw doubt in Alistair's expression. "No. This is just... this is just crazy talk..."

Elissa stepped closer. "No! It's not. You know it isn't. Think about it: if Loghain believes the Wardens are a threat, do you think he'd let that threat remain?"

"No, of course not," he said in a guarded tone.

Encouraged by even that modest appeasement, Elissa went on. "Think about the tactics for this battle: if Loghain remains hidden from the darkspawn under cover, what's to stop him from just retreating when we give the signal?"

Now he really did look troubled. "And what? Just leave the rest of them to die? That's his son-in-law down there!"

"You didn't see them arguing at the meeting. There is bad blood between them. I know it. Loghain thinks Cailan is going to give the country away to the Orlesians—"

Just then a straggling group of soldiers hurried by and when they heard her words their heads turned as one to look at the two of them. She snapped her mouth shut, but Alistair still stepped forward and hissed at her. "Keep your voice down! You want to get arrested for treason?"

She grabbed his arms and tried to shake him to see sense. "We have to warn them! We have to get to Cailan and Duncan before it's too late—"

"And what are we going to tell them?" He looked at her incredulously. "You don't have proof of a single thing!"

 _Maker_ , he had a point. She didn't have a lick of actual evidence. She only had her convictions.

She let go of him. "I'll just have to explain it."

Alistair laughed mirthlessly and her face truly fell. This couldn't be happening _. Not again_.

He must have noticed her distress because he stepped forward, suddenly looking less disagreeable. "Elissa," he said. "You  _can't_  be right. I know you've convinced yourself of it but... look what you've been through. Maybe you're seeing betrayal and conspiracy everywhere because of that."

She inhaled sharply, disturbed by the sense he was making. Maybe it was true... maybe she was just being paranoid—.

 _No._  She was certain. She set her jaw and looked up at Alistair resolutely. "Nothing happens in a void," she said. "Maybe Howe's betrayal wasn't an isolated incident. Maybe it's the first of many betrayals."

She could see that her words did not have the effect she'd hoped for. He continued to look at her doubtfully. After a moment, he shook his head. "Look, even if I did believe you—which I  _don't_ , I just want to make that clear—" he ignored the way she glared at him after that, and went on confidently. "Even if I did though... it's too late to get a message to the king. The Horde is coming and the armies are all already in place."

Her mouth hung open at his words, shocked at both the simple truth Alistair spoke and the fact that it was  _him_  who had pointed it out, and not her. Maker, was she not thinking clearly? But if he was right... if they were already too late...

"Look," Alistair shook her. "Right or wrong, we  _have_ to light that beacon," he said. "If we don't, then  _we're_  the traitors. Do you understand?"

He was right. Of course, she had been right too, but she was right too late.

Again.

_Thousands will die._

She blinked away tears and nodded determinedly at Alistair, before turning and sprinting back to the mabari cages, not even looking to see if he followed her. They'd spent so much time talking, she barely had any time to fetch Prince from the kennel.

There was no way she was going on this mission without him. They were likely all going to die tonight, but at least they'd die together. She could take cold comfort in that fact, at least.

 _Maker watch over us all,_ she prayed.


	10. Signal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair is desperate to light the signal in spite of Elissa's convictions.

_I'm sorry I can't help you, I cannot keep you safe  
I'm sorry I can't help myself, so don't look at me that way  
_—  _Falling is Like This,_ Ani Difranco

The war camp was emptier than Alistair had ever seen it. In the weeks he'd spent at Ostagar he'd never known the place  _not_  to be teeming with people: soldiers, merchants, smiths, mages, Templars, and Chantry sisters all made the camp their home in the past month. But with the battle imminent soldier and civilian alike abandoned what had once been the epicenter of an army's worth of activity, leaving it disturbingly quiet and spooky-looking in the last of the evening's light.

In spite of the urgency the camp's emptiness inspired, neither he nor Elissa could keep themselves from stopping when they emerged from the ruins to the sight of the whole battlefield laid out before them from the top of the bridge.

It was awe-inspiring, seeing so many of Ferelden's countrymen in one place, here to defend their home and their lives from the horrifying scourge of the Blight.

It  _couldn't_  all be for nothing. Elissa had to be wrong about Loghain. She just had to be.

He couldn't bring himself to tell her again, however. As the orange glow of the approaching horde moved closer, bringing with it the guttural shouts of the darkspawn below, Alistair spared a glance to the girl beside him.

She was staring out at the battlefield with a look somewhat worse than apprehensive, but not quite the stark terror he'd seen from her before. He supposed he could be grateful for that at least.

"Come on," he yelled, drawing her attention from the fighting below. "Let's cross the bridge and get to the tower."

She nodded and took off, and once again he was running after her and her mabari.

When they reached the halfway point the first of the enemy's projectiles hit. A flaming pile of rock ( _since when did the darkspawn have catapults?)_  hit the bridge. Fortunately it broke against the low wall that topped it, and he and Elissa were merely thrown to the ground, rather than completely pulverized. He helped her to her feet and they stumbled onward, Prince barking wildly alongside them.

They'd only just stepped off the bridge when they were confronted by two figures running in the opposite direction: one was a man in soldier's garb, the other a female Circle mage.

"You!" the mage said, and the two figures careened to a stop in front of them. "You're the Grey Wardens aren't you?"

"In the flesh," he said, putting a hand on Elissa's back and attempting to guide her around the two people in their way. "We'd love to stay and talk, but we've got a mission and we're on a bit of a deadline—"

The soldier stepped in front of them. "If you're headed to the Tower, don't. It's been taken!"

He heard Elissa gasp next to him. "Taken? Taken how?" he barked.

"The darkspawn came up through the lower chambers! They're everywhere! Most of our men are dead!"

Elissa gripped his arm painfully. "There are darkspawn in the tower?!"

The Circle mage spoke up with an unexpectedly wry tone. "Aren't darkspawn normally your area of expertise?" She was a willowy brunette, who regarded them with a skeptical expression.

He didn't have the time or the inclination to explain. "We have to get to the beacon and light the signal fire. Will you come with us?"

"Of course," the soldier said automatically, but the mage hesitated and threw her glance toward the bridge.

"If you're thinking of escaping, you'll only delay your death," Elissa said, stepping forward and glaring up at the mage. "If we don't stop the horde here the Blight will engulf all of Ferelden."

Alistair winced his eyes shut. This was just what he needed now—to piss off another mage. Yet when he opened them he saw the woman regarding Elissa with a thoughtful expression of her own. Maybe Elissa's accusation hadn't come out of the blue?

He didn't want to think about Elissa being right all the time.

"Well isn't this nice and ironic?" the woman finally said, more to herself than to them it seemed. She shook her head and muttered, "dammit Neria."

"Who is Neria?" Elissa asked, screwing up her eyebrows in confusion.

The mage glared at her a moment, but didn't answer her question. She addressed Alistair instead. "Fine. I'll help."

Elissa frowned up at the tall woman and said in an accusatory tone, "Where's the Templar who should be watching you, anyway?"

 _Oh Maker._  He looked over at the mage, expecting a fiery reaction. The woman's face was inscrutable, however. "He died," she said calmly, leveling an even gaze at Elissa. "Along with many others."

Elissa considered this a moment and then nodded. "As luck would have it, Alistair has Templar training." She nodded in his direction. "So, you shouldn't feel worried about succumbing to the temptations of a demon. Alistair will be able to smite you if you do."

" _Elissa_!" he hissed. But the circle mage gave a snort of laughter.

"Oh, well,  _that's_  a relief," she said, voice dripping with sarcasm. But she didn't seem as mad as she might've.  _Imagine that: mage with a sense of humor._ Maybe there was a Maker, after all.

Still, they were wasting time. "Great, that's settled then," Alistair said, forcing the cheeriness into his voice. He turned to Elissa and grabbed her shoulder to get her to look at him. She did, eyes widening in surprise. "You stay back with the mage, keep anything from getting on her, alright?" She nodded her understanding and he went on, his hand still squeezing her shoulder. "If something does get through, you can lead it away . . . back to me, understand?"

"I understand," she said. He could see the fear in her eyes again, but he didn't have the words to reassure her. He felt it too.

He turned to go but she stopped him, pulling on his arm. "Elissa," he started to protest, but she dragged him a few steps away.

"We should consider getting you out of here," she said in a low voice so the others couldn't hear. "King Cailan intended to keep you safe—"

His eyes grew wide when he realized what she was proposing. "Stop. Don't say another word." He pointed a finger under her nose. "You are not even supposed to  _know that_ ," he said, surprising even himself at the venom in his voice. "Don't bring it up again." Once the rush of anger left him and he saw her shocked expression he felt a little guilty, but there wasn't any time for it now. "Come on," he said, turning on his heel to go.

Again she grabbed his arm. "Alistair,  _wait!"_

He whirled around to face her. "What is it  _now_?"

She looked deeply distressed, he couldn't help but notice, but it didn't stop her from speaking all in a rush. "It's my shield," she said, gripping the thing in her hands. "I can't carry it and load the crossbow. I know you have your own shield but I was hoping that you might—"

Before she could finish he unceremoniously, and with more force than was strictly necessary, tossed his Chantry shield aside. It landed on the stones with a clatter, and he turned back to Elissa with his arm extended. "It'd be an honor to wield your family's shield," he said, partly because it was true but mostly because he had a hunch it was the quickest way to end this conversation and get on with their business.

He was right. She gratefully handed the thing over and then they were moving as one down the path to the tower. They found a group of soldiers fighting a pitched battle with the darkspawn aside a blazing bonfire near the entrance to the tower.

The taint was singing in his blood as he crashed into the enemy, Prince and the soldier right behind them. Elissa hung back with the mage, and he could hear the distinctive twang her crossbow made each time she fired, reassuring him that she was handling the enemy alright on her own.

The Circle mage's magic made an enormous difference. She could heal and shield them, as well as paralyze and stun enemies both with direct spells and with the use of glyph magic. He recognized the glowing symbols around him and took care not to trip her magical traps.

"Alistair!"

He bashed the face of the genlock in front of him with his shield, sending him wheeling into the other soldier's blade, and whirled around to see Elissa running straight for him, a hurlock alpha hot on her tail. She was almost to him when he saw the darkspawn catch up to her with its long strides.

"Get  _down!_ " he shouted, and to his great relief Elissa obeyed in an instant, sliding to the ground in front of him. He leaped over her, bringing his shield up to knock the darkspawn's axe aside. The hurlock lurched over and Alistair swiftly brought his sword down in a violent slash that separated the creature's head from its body.

He heard Elissa get to her feet behind him. "That was amazing!" she panted, and he turned to see her gazing up at him in something akin to awe. Any other time and he would have blushed at that kind of attention.

Now, he started shouting frantically, instead. " _Maker's breath_! What are these darkspawn doing ahead of the rest of the horde? There wasn't supposed to be any resistance here!"

Before Elissa could respond he heard a sardonic voice behind him. "You could try telling them they're in the wrong place." The female mage emerged from the gloom, smirking at the pair of them.

"Right," he said dryly. "Because  _clearly_  this is all just a misunderstanding. We'll laugh about this later."

She snorted a laugh, but then Elissa stepped forward and said in all sincerity, "I highly doubt that." She gave Alistair a knowing look. "Don't you think this is a bit suspicious?"

"What are talking about?" he said, anxious to get on with their task.

"You said so yourself. These darkspawn shouldn't  _be_ here." She waved her arms and then gave him a significant look.

He looked down at her incredulously. "You've  _got_  to be kidding me! What . . . you think the darkspawn and Loghain are conspiring  _together_  now?"

"You have to admit, it's suspicious—"

"That's ridiculous! You really are seeing conspiracy theories everywhere—"

"What the  _hell_  are you two talking about?"

Alistair felt his stomach drop. They were having this conversation right in front of the mage. He was an idiot.

"Never mind," he said abruptly, glaring at Elissa and hoping she got the point. When she simply scowled back at him without responding he assumed she did. "The important thing is that we get to the top of this tower and light the beacon."

The oppressive heat they faced once they threw open the doors to the tower made them all gasp. Even in the small entryway, they could feel the heat from the fires the darkspawn had set. As they emerged from the small room they could all see that the monsters had erected a flaming barricade in the center of the wide, circular hall. Alistair could sense at least a dozen darkspawn lurking in the center of the room.

He started to rush forward, but Elissa suddenly placed herself right in front of him, and he crashed into her. She pressed up against him and hissed, "Stop!" before shoving her crossbow into his hands. "Trap!" she shouted by way of explanation, before crouching and darting forward.

He hurried after her and took aim at the darkened shapes behind the bright flames. It was too hard to see, but he fired anyway, hoping the distraction provided Elissa the cover she needed. "Stay back," he yelled to the others, as they came up behind them.

Elissa knelt to deal with the thin wire he most certainly would have tripped over if not for her, and then he felt the gathering of magical energy. It was coming from the center of the room.  _An emissary!_

The magic closed in on itself and then shot toward them. He lurched forward, hooked an arm around Elissa's waist and pulled her backward forcefully, but they only just missed getting hit in the face with the blast of the enemy's fireball. As it was, the impact sent them flying, and Alistair found himself lying under Elissa once the smoke cleared.

"Are you alright?" he managed to choke out. Wide green eyes were suddenly very close to his, and he became acutely aware of the weight of her body lying flat against him. She seemed to realize it in the same instant, for she flushed and rolled off of him in a huff.

Another blast of magic rocked the entryway to the tower and he struggled to get to his feet, helping up Elissa. "Everyone, get back!" he shouted, and they all hurried back into the small room.

Elissa grabbed the crossbow and dragged the mage by the arm up the steps, positioning herself on the opposite side of the narrow hall.

He flattened against the wall to the left side of the door and readied his sword and shield. The other soldier did the same on the right. Prince remained in the center of the room, barking wildly until Elissa yelled at him to heel. He ran back to her side and an instant later the darkspawn darkened the door.

Alistair and the soldier were able to get the jump on them from their position on either side of the small entrance, and Elissa and the Circle mage took care of any that managed to get past them. In a matter of minutes the entrance way was filled with darkspawn corpses.

"That emissary is still out there," Alistair said. "Along with three, maybe four others. Let's go."

He felt the mage envelop him in a shield of magic, allowing him to race up to the emissary and engage it without feeling the arrows or magic spells that were slung in his direction.

Prince burst past him at a frantic pace toward the archers. Alistair jabbed the emissary with his sword, burying it in the darkspawn caster's gut, before whirling around to see the mabari tackle one archer, while the soldier hacked at a second. The mage traced a pattern in the air and rings of light encircled the third archer, and it froze. Elissa raced up to it and shot it at point blank rage in the head.

The darkspawn were all dead but they hadn't escaped the battle without a few injuries. Alistair's hand received a nasty gash, and the soldier had an arrow protruding from his arm.

"We need to get the arrow out," Elissa said, kneeling next to the man, who was propped up against the wall. She carefully snapped the arrow shaft so that only a couple of inches protruded from the man's arm. "Mage, save your mana. I have healing potions they can use."

Alistair ground his teeth together. "Elissa, she has a  _name."_ He turned and looked at the mage apologetically. "At least, I assume so? Sorry, didn't catch it before."

The woman smirked and then gestured for him to sit. He sunk to the floor next to the other man and she knelt down next to him, reaching into her pack for bandages. "Solona," she said, and then set to work on bandaging his hand.

"Garrond," the soldier next to him said through gritted teeth.

"And I'm La— . . . I'm Elissa." Alistair looked up to see her regard Garrond with a sympathetic look. "Pleased to meet you and I'm very sorry." With no further warning, she pushed the arrow through the man's arm, eliciting a howl of pain, before quickly pressing a poultice soaked bandage against his arm.

Alistair shook his head at the brusqueness of her bedside manner. He faced the mage. "Nice to meet you. I'm—"

"Alistair," the mage supplied. At his inquisitive glance she shrugged, but before he could ask how she knew him, Elissa was at his side, yanking on his other arm. "Alistair!"

"What?"

"I like this room." At his blank stare she went on. "There are more darkspawn on this floor, right?" He nodded. He could feel them close by, but she couldn't sense the darkspawn. Not yet. "I want to lure them in here."

He looked around and saw what she meant. The barricades would provide decent cover, and the wide open space would allow them all to maneuver more easily around enemies. "Alright, but how—"

"I'm going to move that trap from the entrance over to that doorway." She pointed to where she meant, standing and walking purposefully toward the center of the room.

Solona finished bandaging his hand and he scrambled after her.

"The mage can station herself here," she said, indicating behind a statue the darkspawn had desecrated in the middle of the room. She turned and looked up at him, and after a few seconds he realized that she was waiting for his permission to get started.

"Do it," he said, feeling the knot in his stomach twist. How did he end up leading again?

Elissa sprinted to the other side of the room, frantic to get to work. Alistair took a deep breath and looked around.

"So what's her story?" Solona stood next to him, watching Elissa work with a hooded expression.

Now that she stood right next to him he noticed that she was nearly as tall as he was. "What do you mean?"

"I thought Grey Wardens were recruited for being exceptional warriors," she said, glancing significantly in Elissa's direction.

Alistair couldn't stifle a sigh. As if he didn't have enough to worry about. "She seems to be holding up alright," he managed after a few seconds.

Solona snorted. "Right. Look, even I can tell she's green as hell . . ."

He turned to face her. "Yeah and where did you learn to fight like that anyway?" he asked.

"Oh it's a riveting tale, really," she said airily. "Filled with deception, betrayal . . ." She leaned forward, whispering conspiratorially, "not to mention blood magic and forbidden  _sex_."

Alistair snorted a laugh. "Sounds like a hell of a story."

"Yeah, it is," she said, straightening up and fixing him with a serious look. "And it's also entirely off subject, so don't think I don't know what you're doing."

Alistair stared at the woman for a few heartbeats, before giving a frustrated sigh. "Alright, fine, she's not a typical recruit, but she's got other . . . skills. You'll see."

The mage shrugged as Elissa returned from having set up the trap. "You do know the fireball spell, correct? I believe it's in the primal school of magic," she asked of Solona, without preamble.

Alistair stifled a groan. " _Elissa_."

"Yes, I'm aware of what school of magic fire spells come from," Solona said, her lips formed into a wry smile.

Alistair found himself feeling absurdly grateful that the woman had apparently decided to find Elissa amusing, rather than offensive. "Are you sure you're a mage?" he blurted out, and she looked up at him with an eyebrow raised. He glanced at Elissa and then muttered under his breath, "or a woman?"

The two women stared at him blankly. "What?" Elissa said, scowling.

"Never mind," he murmured.

Solona snorted at his discomfort. "You'd have  _never_  made it as a Templar," she said, before turning back to Elissa. "I can summon fire, but not at a great distance. Sorry. Primal isn't really my school."

Elissa glared up at her and Alistair feared that she might snap at the mage in her disappointment, but she seemed to accept the mage's explanation after a moment. She started taking off her pack, and unbuckling the sword at her hip.

Alistair felt a rush of anxiety when realized what she intended. "What are you doing?"

"You know what I'm doing," she said, not looking up at him. She set her crossbow down against the statue in the middle of the room and looked back at them. "Ready?"

Alistair stepped up to her. "No, not ready," he said, glowering down at her. "This is way too dangerous—"

" _Don't,_ " Elissa said in a low tone, a dangerous glint in her eye.

He ignored it. "Don't you  _don't_  me," he said. "This is crazy dangerous. You should let  _me_  bring them—"

" _You!?"_ Elissa's voice raised an octave with incredulity. She shook her head. "No way. You'll trip the trap on your way back and blow yourself up."

He wanted to be insulted at the absolutely certainty of her tone, but deep down he knew she was probably right. Still, he protested. "You can tell me when to jump," he said weakly.

She crossed her arms. "They'll sense you. They won't sense me yet, will they?"

He felt a shameful urge to just flat out lie to her and tell her the darkspawn would be just as likely to sense her as him, but the truth was he only got the weakest sensation of her tainted blood himself. It would be days before she had to worry about the darkspawn sensing her.

He had paused long enough to know he couldn't pull off the lie, so he finally relented. "Fine," he said, waving his arms at her. "But for the love of the Maker, be  _careful._ "

She didn't give him a second look before darting out of the room.

The sixty-odd seconds they waited for her to make it back with enemies in tow felt much, much longer. Alistair waited with his heartbeat thundering in his ears.

Finally she burst into the room with a small horde of darkspawn behind her, taking a running dive over the trap and landing with a graceful roll after she cleared it. The darkspawn hit the trip line a second later, and the trap exploded, engulfing the enemy in flames. He felt a swell of pride that Elissa had executed her plan so well, and then he was lost in the haze of battle, trying to breathe through the fire storm Elissa and Solona wrought through trap and magic.

The noise from their battle was enough to draw every darkspawn on the floor to them, eventually, and his lungs burned from both the exertion and all the smoke as they fought their way through the rest of them. The room did in fact prove to be an advantage. Elissa and Solona were able to attack from cover, and any darkspawn that did get past Alistair or Garrond were quickly brought down by Prince or a well-placed crossbow bolt.

After the fighting they rummaged through the first floor, Elissa breaking open chests to find the odd potion or poison, or who knew what else in the supplies left behind by Loghain's men in the tower.

They found a giant hole in the floor in the hall near the entrance to the second floor. Alistair gave a low whistle.

He heard Solona sigh next to him. "Yeah, it sucked."

They made their way to the next floor, and he again had reason to feel like a proud mentor as he watched Elissa become more comfortable fighting. She was more aggressive than she had been in the Wilds, using the crossbow's lethality at short range to her advantage. It took a special kind of guts to get up close to a monster with nothing but a ranged weapon, Alistair figured, and during one break in the fighting he told her as much. "You're doing great, Elissa," he said under his breath. "Keep up the good work."

She looked up at him in mild surprise, and then gave him a little shrug. "I just keep thinking we'll probably die no matter what we do."

"And that helps?" he asked, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his chest her words inspired.

She gave another shrug. "Apparently."

On the second floor he was caught flat footed when she sprinted ahead of him, making him nearly screech in protest. But he hadn't seen what she had—a ballista. She jumped up to it and immediately fired, taking out several darkspawn with the powerful weapon.

"Alright," Solona said with a sidelong glance at Alistair. "We can keep her."

He snorted a laugh in response before readying himself for battle. He and Garrond cut down the enemies that made it past Elissa's deadly ballista, and soon the second floor was clear of darkspawn as well.

On the third floor, she pulled the same move  _again_. He could do nothing but watch as she ran ahead of him, even though he had  _just_  told her that she needed to stay behind him, she didn't  _listen_ —

And then he saw her kick a lever over, opening the cages of a half dozen mabari war hounds, which immediately joined the fighting on their side, and his reprimand died in his throat. With the additional help from the mabaris, they killed the rest of the darkspawn on the third floor with little problem.

"That's it," Solona said. "That's the top level up there." She pointed up a short set of stairs that lead to a massive oak door.

The whole party was panting heavily at having come this far, but Alistair could not let them rest. "Come on," he said, and started running up the steps.

"Alistair,  _wait_." Elissa's voice had a tone to it that filled his heart with dread. He turned around to see her glaring up at him, her hands in fists at her sides. "Before we continue, they should know the truth."

 _Maker_ ,  _no_. Not this. Not  _now_.

"Elissa,  _no_ ," he pleaded, but he saw Garrond's and Solona's curious faces and knew it was too late to stop what was happening. He felt like crying in frustration. They were  _so_   _close._

Elissa didn't mince words. She told them it all, quickly and without flourish. It wasn't a detailed description of her theory, but more of a summary of her suspicions and conclusions. "I have no proof," she admitted calmly at the end. "But I know I'm correct."

Alistair hated that certainty he heard in her voice, and for a moment it made him hate her a little, too. If she were right . . . He shook his head. "She's not," he said aloud, surprised at the confidence in his voice. "All due respect to Elissa, I believe she's wrong." She looked up at him guardedly, but didn't seem angry. He felt a little guilty for so blatantly contradicting her, but he went on anyway. "Look, you want the truth? The truth is there is a big, nasty darkspawn on the other side of this door." It  _was_ true—the vibration in his blood spoke to its enormous size. "But it doesn't matter, because I'm opening this door in five seconds, with or without any of you. Whoever wants to come with me, be ready."

He turned away from Solona and Garrond's shocked faces, and started his count. He heard Solona give a deep sigh. "Why do it then? If it's all for nothing."

Elissa made a little hum of disagreement. "We have our orders. But you and Garrond, you could get out in time . . . "

Garrond cleared his throat. "I'm with the Templar. You're nuts if you think Loghain would betray the king, and I'm not abandoning you all."

Alistair felt a rush of gratitude to have the soldier with him, regardless of Solona's response. He didn't wait to see if she would abandon them or not, however. He'd waited long enough.

He finished his count and opened up the door.

He was distantly aware that they all followed him as he ran into the room, but he forgot his companions completely as soon as he saw a shockingly large, horned darkspawn bite off the head of the man it held in its gigantic, clawed hands.

"It's an ogre!" The five of them froze in horror for a few precious seconds as the creature turned toward them and bellowed an ear-splitting roar.

And then his battle instincts kicked in, and Alistair gave a roar of his own before charging. A warmth overcame him and he realized it was Solona's magic. All of a sudden he felt extraordinarily powerful. It was a heady sensation of invulnerability, and he let it propel him into smashing into the ogre with his shield.

He shouldn't have been able to, but his assault pushed the creature back. For a moment it felt like this was a battle that they could win. Garrond joined Alistair to fight the beast alongside him, and the two warriors managed to keep its attention while Solona and Elissa harried it with ranged attacks. Prince attacked the monster's legs, delivering vicious bites to the creature's boulder sized thighs and calves.

And then Elissa moved behind the beast and threw her fire vial at it. It burst upon the thing's back, burning through metal and flesh and causing a putrid smoky stench.

The monster howled in pain and whirled, intent on finding the source of this new threat. Elissa started to sprint away, but her legs were puny, short things compared to the ogre's. The beast charged and caught up to her, scooping her up like a rag doll in his giant fist.

Alistair screamed and made his own charge at the ogre. But Solona's magic must have faded, for it seemed like he was running in slow motion. The creature squeezed Elissa in its fist and she shrieked in agony.

"Solona! Do something!'"

Finally he felt the mage concentrate her magic and throw it at the beast. Rings of light encircled the monster and it froze, paralyzed by the spell.

Elissa slid out of the creature's grasp and onto the floor with a thud. Solona hurried to her side, but Alistair was intent on finishing the ogre off. He somehow managed to draw upon every ounce of spare energy he had to propel himself into a running leap at the creature.

The ogre reanimated as he landed, but it was too late. Alistair drove his sword deeply into the creature's neck, burying it to the hilt before twisting to sit astride the now stumbling ogre's shoulders.

He yanked his sword out and then reversed his grip and plunged it into the monster's skull. It fell forward and he leapt to the ground, landing gracefully as the ogre crashed to the floor with a rumbling echo.

"That was amazing," Elissa said in a breathless whisper as Solona helped her to her feet. The look of wonder she leveled at him took what breath he had left away, and he couldn't help the smile that crept up his face.

There was a twelve year old version of Alistair that wanted to scream at him that  _this_  was what he'd been waiting for—killing fearsome monsters and eliciting just such a look from a lady like Elissa—but he allowed himself only a moment to bask in Elissa's admiration before the urgency of his mission overcame him again. The smile fled his face. "We have to light the signal!"

He grabbed a torch from the wall and dashed toward the beacon. The wood must have been treated with some kind of oil because it ignited in a violent whoosh the instant Alistair threw the torch at it.

He turned around to see Elissa had come up behind him, wringing her hands and looking up at him in worry.

"You're wrong," he said, as gently as he could, still panting and out of breath. He took a step forward. "You'll see. Loghain will come through and we'll—"

He never completed the thought. The doors burst open, and to Alistair's horror first one, then two and then  _three_  arrows sprouted from Elissa's chest, red blood blooming like flowers on her chest. She looked up at him with her mouth in a shocked little "O" before slumping to the ground.

It felt like all the air had gone out of the room. A tortured scream wrenched out of his lungs as he stared in anguish at Elissa's lifeless body before him. It was too much, having to finally watch her die right in front of him, after all this . . .

He whirled to face the darkspawn that swarmed into the room, screaming again, his face wet with tears and his heart aching in sudden misery. He dove at the darkspawn with a savage fury, and cut through several of them with a rush of violent strength fueled by grief and rage. Even in his enraged state he realized that it was over. There were far too many of them—

A brilliant white light flooded the entire top of the tower, blinding him and making him stumble backwards. He screwed his eyes shut and felt the most powerful magical force he'd ever encountered overtake the entire room, before everything went black and he saw and felt no more.


	11. Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elissa deals with the consequences of the battle of Ostagar.

_I found you in pieces you've been torn apart  
_ _A million one reasons to end before you start  
_ — _Btsk,_ MS MR __  


She thought she had avoided this.

Her one solace since realizing that her recruitment had been an utter failure was that she would pay for it with her life. That certainty had propelled her through the tower with Alistair, freeing her from the ever-present fear she'd felt since arriving at Ostagar only the day before. Knowing that she would die for her mistake had taken the sting out of her guilt.

But she hadn't died, after all. She listened as the Wilds witch told her what she already knew—that Loghain had retreated and left the King and all the other Grey Wardens to die. She felt the walls start to close in around her as she thought about all the lives that were lost—lives that she could have saved if she'd been more focused, if she'd been smarter . . .

Her face crumpled and a mournful sob escaped her. She brought her knees up to her chest and hugged them, burying her face in her arms. The Wilds woman broke off her speech and Elissa felt the woman's strange amber eyes burning into her, but she couldn't look up at her. She heard Morrigan's  _tsk_  of disgust, and knew that she was making yet another terrible mistake, breaking down like this in front of a woman as seemingly shrewd and cold as Morrigan, but she didn't have the energy left to care.

It wasn't  _fair._  It wasn't fair that she kept surviving when others, more worthy of it, did not. Her mother, who was so good at  _everything_. Her father, who had always been so gentle, so patient. And not to mention Rory . . . sweet, charming, ever faithful Rory, he was dead now too. And all of them had died in her place, to give  _her_  a better chance at surviving.

And Duncan, poor, misguided Duncan, he had the delusion that she could help save his beleaguered order. It must have been desperation, she thought, to recruit someone like her when a Blight truly threatened. But he had done it, because he knew there was a threat to the Wardens that was greater than the Blight, and he needed her to fight it.

And she had failed him. She had failed everyone.

Her sobs quieted as she thought back over the last day and a half, and the wide range of emotions she'd careened through, trying to pick apart several mysteries at once. Underneath every emotion terror had lurked. Terror at the thought of losing this oh-so-precious life of hers, she thought now with disdain. Why had she been so concerned anyway?

She was useless as a Grey Warden. Maybe, if she'd had some combat ability, she could have focused more on her observations, rather than her need for survival. She'd been more of a liability than a help. Duncan would have been better off recruiting someone with average intellect and the ability to actually  _fight_. Like the mage, Solona . . .

The thought of the Circle mage only brought more grief, as she realized that the woman was certainly dead, along with the soldier Garrond and of course . . .  _Prince . . ._

With that thought her tears began anew. She wasn't sure how long she sat in that rickety bed, listening to nothing but the sound of her own choking sobs and the occasional exasperated sigh of the witch who watched her. "Why did your mother save us," she asked after a long while, looking up to glare blearily at the raven-haired woman.

Morrigan coolly ignored her distress and gave a mere shrug of one befeathered shoulder. "I wonder at that myself, but she tells me nothing. Perhaps you were the only ones she could reach. I would have rescued your king. A  _king_  would be worth a much higher ransom than you."

 _A king_.

Elissa blinked at the swamp witch. They  _had_  rescued a king, she realized, and the sharp, practical part of her mind snapped awake, quickly running through all the implications of this interesting fact. Her curiosity was like a balm—a reason to box up her grief and stop torturing herself.

_Alistair is alive._

She had been too consumed with her own misery to focus on her fellow warden when Morrigan had first mentioned him, she realized now with a pang of guilt. But . . . the man who had dragged her through the tower and saved her life so many times . . . he was _alive_  . . . and he was a king, or as near to one as they were likely going to get.

The realization was like a splash of water to the faceand having something to focus on helped her bury the deep well of sorrow within her. She didn't know if it was fate or chance that placed this opportunity in her lap, but she was not going to waste it.

With a new, difficult goal in mind, Elissa was able to bury her anguish and start thinking. She wiped her face on the blanket and then swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her vision swam from moving too fast, but she was determined now, with the first half-formed shreds of a plan taking shape in her head.

"I need to speak to your mother," she said once the room stopped spinning.

The swamp witch cast a curious look at her and then stalked over to a small chest and opened it. "I agree," she said, as she reached into the chest and retrieved what looked to be Elissa's clothing and armor. "'Tis time you speak with Mother and be on your way."

Elissa dressed as quickly as she was able, finding it a bit more difficult than she had anticipated. Her entire torso had been bandaged, but she felt specific aches on her left side and under her right breast. Cursory examination with her hands enabled her to locate where the arrows had pierced her skin.

She recalled with a shudder how the arrows had seemed to sprout  _from_  her, and how she hadn't even really felt the first one. The rest, though, had come with searing pain. Just before her vision went black she had looked up to see Alistair staring at her with a look of pure horror. She had thought it would end for him soon, too, and then he wouldn't have to worry about it either.

She shook her head to clear the memory from it, and eased herself into her pants and boots. Pulling the chest piece over her head made her gasp in pain, and she had to go at a snail's pace, but she refused to ask for help from the other woman, and the swamp witch didn't offer it. In fact Morrigan paid her no mind at all, but started gathering various food ingredients noisily around the hut.

It wasn't until she was done dressing that she noticed how clean she felt _—_ she hadn't bathed in nearly a week, she realized with a flush of shame. Her grief had drowned out such hygienic concerns. But someone, Morrigan probably, had bathed her. Even her hair had been attended to, she noticed as she rubbed a hand over it to find it had been neatly braided.  _Not washed, but brushed well._

She started toward the door but looked back over her shoulder when her hand met the doorknob. "Thank you, Morrigan," she said. "For treating my injuries and for . . . well, thank you."

Morrigan looked up from where she had started chopping an onion, giving Elissa a skeptical look before nodding her head. "You are . . . welcome. Though in truth, Mother did most of the work. I am no healer."

With that, she went back to her task, leaving Elissa free to study her. She cocked her head to the side and examined the swamp girl, musing over what the her upbringing must have been like _—_ raised away from society, having only her mother to guide her thinking, unfamiliar with the most common social customs—

She shook her head to stop herself. Morrigan presented a fascinating mystery of a person, but she was largely irrelevant to Elissa's immediate needs, and besides—she and Alistair were going to escape this place and probably never see the witch again. It didn't make sense to waste time trying to figure her out.

She had to squint when she left the darkness of the hut, though the sunlight was dimmed by the overcast sky. It looked to be late morning, she guessed by the sun's position. Alistair stood at the edge of the swamp water with his back to her, looking out at the wilds.

"See?" Morrigan's mother stood at a little distance from Alistair. "Here is your fellow Grey Warden. You worry too much, young man."

At the old woman's words Alistair whirled to look at her.

She quickly walked up to him, determined to figure out just how dire their current predicament was. She opened her mouth to speak, to tell him they needed to get somewhere safe, that they needed to  _plan_ , but then she looked up and saw his red-rimmed eyes and saw the misery etched into his handsome face. She found herself unable to say anything at all.

He raised a hand and reached out as if he wanted to touch her, but then let it fall slowly, looking at her with wide eyes. "You!" He spoke in a whisper. "You're alive. I thought you were dead for sure."

 _I should be_. The thought sprung up, unbidden, and she almost said it aloud before stopping herself with a glance at the old woman. She was watching the two of them through narrowed eyes.

"Duncan's dead," Alistair went on, voice cracked in grief. "The Grey Wardens, even my—even the king . . . They're all dead."

It was harder than she would have expected to see Alistair's sorrow. Here, finally, was someone who could understand what she herself had just gone through, so very recently. "I know," she said quietly. It was all she could do to keep from bursting into tears at his words, but she kept it together, looking down at the ground at their feet.

Alistair spoke pleadingly. "Elissa, I am  _so_  sorry. I should have listened to you. You were right." Her heart started beating wildly in alarm at his words. She understood how he must feel, more than anyone else ever could, but she most emphatically did not want to talk about the fact that they knew about the betrayal ahead of time in front of Morrigan's mother. She spared a glance at the old woman and found her watching them now with a look that was far too eager and curious. She had to stop him from talking before he revealed too much.

Alistair went on, oblivious of the look she was shooting him. "If we had just warned Duncan—"

She did the only thing she could think to do. She stepped right up to him, leaving but an inch between their bodies. He fell silent, looking down at her in confusion before she slid one arm up around his neck and the other around his waist and hugged him into a tight embrace. She tried to pull his neck down to get his ear closer to her mouth so she could whisper in it, but he was so bloody tall, and she was so damn short . . .

He was like a rock. Elissa realized that he had frozen at her touch, apparently shocked by her sudden ambush. It must be awkward for him, what with his lack of experience around girls—

She almost gave up, and was about to pull away when he wrapped his arms around her and squeezed her so tightly to him she could hardly breathe.

It was her turn to be stunned—the intensity of his reaction making her feel guiltier at first, but then she unexpectedly found herself melding into his embrace and holding him tighter, squeezing her eyes shut and fighting back her own tears.

"This doesn't seem real . . ." His breath felt hot on her ear, and the rasp in his throat rumbled across her cheek. "If it weren't for Morrigan's mother . . ."

"Do not talk about me as if I am not present, lad."

They both startled at the old woman's words, and Alistair made to pull away. Elissa remembered her intention and grabbed his neck again, stopping him and forcing his head down to her so she could hiss into his ear, "Don't tell her  _anything_  about the conspiracy or who you are."

He didn't let go of her right away, even after she removed her hand and leaned back to look up at him. He stood there with his arms around her, looking down at her uncertainly before finally releasing her with a frown and stepping back, a blush just beginning to creep up his cheeks.

Elissa swallowed a guilty lump in her throat.

"I didn't mean . . ." He ran a hand through his hair, trying to recover. "But what do we call you? You never told us your name."

"Names are pretty but useless things," the old woman said, sauntering closer to them. "The Chasind call me—" At that she stopped herself and turned to Elissa, fixing eyes of dark amber on her. A sly smile formed on her lips. "But no . . . I wouldn't take the pleasure away from you. Why don't you go ahead and tell him my name, oh  _Girl Who Knows Everything_?"

Elissa narrowed her eyes at the old woman. She'd started calling Elissa that the first time they'd met. Normally that kind of nickname would have pleased her, but she didn't like the mocking tone the old woman used.

Still, she was never one to back down from a challenge. She looked her up and down, mentally reviewing all she knew about the mysterious woman and her daughter. It wasn't much. They were apostates living in the Korcari Wilds. The mother was certainly powerful to have not only rescued them, but to have healed her wounds as well.

It wasn't much, but it didn't matter. The only truly important clue was that the woman expected Elissa to guess her name at all and that meant it could be only one.

"So . . . you expect us to believe you're Flemeth?" She cocked an eyebrow at the old woman.

"Flemeth" threw her head back and cackled delightedly, but Alistair looked shocked. " _The_  Flemeth from the legends?" he said, looking with wide eyes from Elissa back to the old woman. He let out a breath. "Daveth was right—you're the Witch of the Wilds, aren't you?"

"And what does that mean? I know a bit of magic, and it has served you both well, has it not?"

Elissa and Alistair shared another look.  _Right_. Whether she were truly Flemeth or not, she was certainly powerful. "Why did you save us? And what do you want in return?"

Flemeth snorted. "Well, we cannot have all the Grey Wardens dying at once, can we? Someone has to deal with these darkspawn. It has always been the Grey Wardens' duty to unite the lands against the Blight. Or did that change when I wasn't looking?"

Elissa peered at the old woman searchingly, trying to detect if the witch was telling the truth. She didn't  _seem_  to know who Alistair really was, given the way she ignored him and addressed Elissa. She almost breathed a sigh of relief but then Flemeth gave another little hum of laughter.

"Trust me, young Cousland. It's your  _tainted_  blood that I'm interested in, not your blue blood." Flemeth's gaze flickered for a second to Alistair before resettling on Elissa, a challenge implicit in their depths.

Elissa inhaled sharply. So Flemeth  _did_  know who they were after all. Her mind raced, trying to think of what clues she might've given in the short interactions she'd had with the Witch of the Wilds so far.

She supposed that the old woman might've recognized the crest of her shield but . . . Alistair bore it, so she should have thought  _Alistair_  was the Cousland, not her. Her mouth went dry, and she was scared at the places her mind traveled. Was Flemeth a blood mage? Or worse?

Alistair, for his part, was oblivious to the little showdown between Flemeth and Elissa. "But we  _were_  fighting the darkspawn!" he sputtered out. "If Loghain hadn't retreated, we would have won!" He slashed his hand downward in an angry gesture and Elissa was astonished at the raw intensity of his rage. "I don't care  _what_  he thought. I still don't understand how he could do this," he said, looking pointedly at her.

She shot him a warning glare in return, but Flemeth didn't seem to notice. "Men's hearts hold shadows darker than any tainted creature." The old witch's voice had gone soft. "Perhaps he believes the Blight is an army he can outmaneuver. Perhaps he does not see that the evil behind it is the true threat."

"The Archdemon." Alistair said, and Elissa felt her skin grow cold. She didn't like to think about the hideous creature from her nightmare. It had frightened her to her core, and a part of her had been relieved that dying in the tower meant not having to deal with a monster as deeply terrifying as the Archdemon.

But, she hadn't had the good sense to die, so she was stuck facing it after all, it seemed.

Still, in spite of the odds being stacked incalculably against her, having a problem to work through did wonders for her mental state. "This archdemon. How do we kill it?" she turned to Alistair and asked, determination making her voice sound confident, strong.

Alistair's eyes opened wide. "By ourselves? No Grey Warden has ever defeated a Blight without the army of a half-dozen nations at his back." He looked chagrined. "Not to mention, I don't know how." He shrugged at the look she gave him. "I've only been a Warden for six months."

Elissa took a deep breath.  _Maker_ , _we are ill-suited for this.._.

Flemeth chuckled again. "How to kill the archdemon or how to raise an army? It seems to me, those are two different questions, hmm? Have the Wardens no allies these days?"

She returned her focus to Flemeth again. The old woman certainly  _seemed_ sincere in her desire to end the Blight. She  _had_  actually been nothing but helpful to them, in spite of her odd speeches and weird intuitions. She might be an apostate mage, or worse (she might even really  _be_  Flemeth, for all Elissa knew) but she'd rescued them from the tower, and she had preserved the Grey Warden treaties—.

"The treaties!" she blurted out, inspiration making her shout.

Alistair's head snapped up to look at her, and for the first time since she emerged from the hut, she saw a glimmer of hope in his eyes. "The treaties," he repeated softly, and then a grin started to spread across his face. "Of course! The treaties! Grey Wardens can demand aid from dwarves, elves, mages, and other places! They're  _obligated_  to help us during a Blight!"

His grin was actually infectious and Elissa felt its answer spread across her own face in response. "And don't forget, Arl Eamon still has his troops in reserve!" he said, and Elissa's grin grew even wider. She was just about to mention that herself. "Cailan was his _nephew_. If he knew what Loghain did, he would  _never_ stand for it. The Landsmeet would never stand for it. There would be civil war!"

Elissa's eyes grew wide, wondering if he realized what civil war would actually mean for  _him_. She got the feeling he didn't and she wasn't about to bring it up at the moment.

He went on, sounding more hopeful by the second. "I  _know_  him. He's a good man, respected at the Landsmeet."

"You know Arl Eamon?"  _But of course, the Arl must be—_

"Of course! We could go to Redcliffe and appeal to him for help!" Elissa blinked up in surprise at Alistair's outburst. That was . . . a fantastic idea. She knew the Arl. He was loyal to Cailan and politically savvy. Plus, if her hunch about him was right, he would know what to do with Alistair.

 _Redcliffe . . . everything came back to Redcliffe._ She shook her head, mentally shelving the nagging idea for the moment. She would save it for later, when the guilt and desperation came back and she would need another mystery to distract herself.

"I may be old," the old woman said, interrupting her thoughts. "But dwarves, elves, mages, this Arl Eamon, and who knows what else . . . this sounds like an army to me."

"So can we do this?" Alistair asked, looking down at her in an expression that was both fearful and hopeful. "Go to Redcliffe and these other places and . . . build an army?"

"Yes," she said, in all confidence, before the pragmatist in her piped up. "I mean, we have to try. But truthfully it's still very likely we're all going to die." She gave Alistair a small shrug with one shoulder.

His eyes grew wide and his lips twitched like he wanted to smile. "Duly noted."

"So you are set then? Ready to be Grey Wardens?"

Elissa turned back to the old woman, giving her one last hard look. Suddenly she remembered that she hadn't yet thanked the woman. It was a superstitious notion she had and she knewit was completely irrational. But, in all the folk tales and legends she had heard, ungrateful guests were the characters who fared the most poorly. "Thank you, Flemeth. For all that you've done for us," she said.

"No, no," the old woman scoffed, waving a hand at her. "Thank you!  _You_  are the Grey Warden here, not I. Now. . . . Before you go, there is yet one more thing I can offer you."

"The stew is bubbling, Mother dear. Shall we have two guests of the eve, or none?" Morrigan appeared at her mother's side, drifting her yellow-eyed gaze indifferently from her to Alistair, before settling back on her mother.

"The Grey Wardens are leaving shortly, girl. And you will be joining them."

Morrigan didn't seem to hear her at first. She turned back to the Wardens with a sneer. "Such a shame—" she started to say in a sing-song voice, before her hearing caught up with her. "What?" she turned back to her mother with a confused scowl.

Elissa watched the mother and daughter duo carefully. Morrigan  _seemed_  genuinely surprised and distressed at the idea, but Elissa couldn't help wondering if this was what Flemeth had wanted all along . . .

"You heard me, girl. The last time I looked, you had ears!" The old woman laughed uproariously.

Alistair stirred next to her. "Really," he said, attempting a diplomatic tone. "That's not necessary." He looked to Elissa with a pleading expression.

She pursed her lips and looked back at the two mages again, uncertainly. She wasn't sure she wanted to travel with Morrigan either—she hadn't exactly made the best first or second impression with the Wilds woman, having been curt on their first encounter, and a blubbering mess during their second. But, they had a nearly impossible task before them. And a  _mage_  . . . that could prove the difference between their survival and their deaths.

Flemeth didn't wait for her to weigh in. "Her magic will be useful. Even better, she knows the Wilds and how to get past the horde."

"Have I no say in this?" Morrigan's brow knit together in a look torn between sadness and anger. In spite of her doubts about the woman, Elissa felt some sympathy for her. Perhaps having been swept along by the tide of fate for the last week had given her a new perspective, but she could understand wanting to have a say in your own future.

"You have been itching to get out of the Wilds for years. Here is your chance. As for you, Wardens, consider this repayment for your lives."

Elissa's eyebrows shot up, surprised to hear the Witch of the Wilds refer to her "gift" as repayment. "Was this your idea all along?"

The older witch's eyes went cold and hard. "Pardon me," she said in a tone of ice. "But I had the impression that you two needed assistance, whatever the form."

Elissa averted her gaze, but Alistair seemed oblivious to the rebuke. "Not to . . . look a gift horse in the mouth, but won't this add to our problems?" he said, looking at Morrigan doubtfully. "Out of the Wilds, she's an apostate."

Flemeth's patience was at an end with them, it appeared. She crossed her arms across her chest and glared at him. "If you do not want help from us illegal mages, young man, perhaps I should have left you on that tower."

Alistair had the grace to look repentant. "Point taken."

Morrigan spoke in a low voice. "Mother . . . this is not how I wanted this. I am not even ready—"

"You  _must_ be ready," Flemeth told her daughter firmly, both her tone and expression dredging up memories of a similar speech Elissa had heard from her own mother, not more than a week ago. "Alone, these two must unite Ferelden against the darkspawn. They need you, Morrigan. Without you, they will surely fail, and all will perish under the Blight. Even I."

Morrigan shed no tears that Elissa saw. Her brow still knit together in a frown, but she nodded solemnly at her mother. "I . . . understand."

"And you, Wardens? Do you understand?" She turned to stare at them both once again, her eyes lit by a fire within. "I give you that which I value above all in this world. I do this because you  _must_  succeed."

Alistair and Elissa both nodded their understanding, and waited for Morrigan to gather her things. She emerged and informed them of a village to the north that would make a good first stopping point, and after a few words with Flemeth, Morrigan strode confidently into the Wilds, not sparing a look back for her mother.

Elissa couldn't help looking back herself, however, and when she did, she gasped aloud. In the old woman's place stood a much taller, more vibrant looking woman, with shockingly white hair that looked to be molded into four large horns atop her head. The horns seemed to drip with blood. The woman's clothing was elaborate, feathered and jeweled and flowing in the wind like tendrils of smoke.

She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see Alistair looking at her in concern. "What's wrong?"

She started to point to the mysterious woman, but when she turned back, she was gone, and Flemeth the old woman stood there again.

"Elissa?"

The memory of what she had seen fluttered away from her like dust in the breeze, and she shook her head, confused at why she had even stopped. She offered Alistair a reassuring, if somewhat confused smile and turned to follow the swamp witch, wondering if she would ever see the old woman again as they made their way back into the Wilds once more.


	12. Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair tries to overcome his grief to have a conversation with Elissa, but it doesn't go quite how he expected.

_But deep down I knew  
_ _No matter what in the end,  
_ _it'd be me and you  
_ — _Btsk,_ MS MR __  


Dusk was falling in the Korcari Wilds. Most of the time what light that made it through the choking vegetation and trees of this wild place was pale and wan. From this vantage point, though, atop a small hill where Morrigan had decided to camp for the night, the setting sun's rays were golden and unfiltered. It almost looked . . . pretty.

Alistair shook his head at the idea of finding anything about this place pleasant, and turned his gaze from the landscape laid out before him to the warden sitting on the other side of the campfire from him. She was busying herself with a project, the pieces of some machinery or other lay on a small blanket before her.

It was their third night following Morrigan through the Korcari Wilds—three nights since the defeat at Ostagar.

_Three nights since Duncan's death . . ._

There was a steadily growing awareness in Alistair that he hadn't been handling his grief well. He'd mostly been able to ignore the disgusted glances the swamp witch, Morrigan, cast him whenever she happened to catch a glimpse of his blubbering, but he was having a harder time justifying his continued wallowing when he thought about Elissa.

She hadn't complained—at least, not that he'd heard, though he had to admit to himself he probably wouldn't have noticed if she had. He realized with a start that he had no idea how camp had been made each night. If they had discussed where and when to camp, he'd missed it. At night, Elissa would press a bowl of food into his hands and lead him to sit by the fire, and yet he had no idea where the food came from or what it had taken to prepare it.

He watched the other warden now as she worked. She had long, graceful fingers and he couldn't help but notice how smooth and uncalloused her hands were. Watching her and realizing how little use he'd been to anyone the last few days made something inside him twist and fill him with self-loathing. Here she was, a noblewoman, clearly out of her element trekking through the Wilds with two perfect strangers, and he'd been making  _her_  do all the work, too consumed with his own grief to help.

Well, he could certainly come to his senses  _now._  He looked around, trying to take better stock of his surroundings, feeling an increase in shame when he realized they could have been camping on the slope of an active volcano, for all he'd have noticed.

The campsite was actually a good one—Morrigan had managed to find a dry patch of earth atop a small hill. The campfire at the center roared cheerfully around a pot of something that smelled delicious. It was beans, he knew, same as every other night, but his stomach still rumbled at the smell.

The swamp witch was nowhere to be found. He frowned, trying to remember if Morrigan had left them the other nights they'd camped out here, but he honestly couldn't remember. In any case, he was happy for her absence.

He turned his attention back to Elissa, who was too busy concentrating on the items before her to notice his newly awakened state.

She looked tired, he supposed, seeing the dark circles under her eyes, though perhaps it was just shadows from the fire that accentuated them. Still, he had to admit she looked pretty good for a dead woman.

He'd been so sure she was dead, before everything went black. He'd woken up later in Flemeth's hut to see her bloodied, half-naked corpse lying on Flemeth's bed. He'd been confused, and then terribly distraught, wondering what ill scheme of the witches required Elissa's dead body when Morrigan had slapped him and told him to wait outside if he wanted his friend to live.

He shook his head at the memory, frustrated that his mind found ways of going back to that  _night_ , almost against his will. As he stared hard at the items on Elissa's blanket, trying not to sink back into the blackness of his grief, the wooden and metal pieces suddenly looked familiar.

He sat up and leaned over to look closer. "Did you . . . did you take apart your crossbow?"

Elissa looked up at him with wide green eyes and stared, her mouth hanging open in a perfect 'O'. He couldn't blame her for being surprised. He'd barely said two words to her since they left Flemeth's. "Oh. I . . . yes. Yes, I did."

"Any particular reason?"

She considered him for a moment, and Alistair wondered if perhaps he should have begun with an apology, but then the corner of her mouth curved upward and she shrugged a shoulder daintily. "I have figured out some modifications I'd like to make. If I had the right supplies, I could fashion a chamber for it that holds two bolts, instead of one."

Alistair moved over to sit by Elissa while she talked. He picked up a large, curved piece of wood—the "bow" part of the weapon. "So, you had to take it apart to figure out how to modify it?"

A hint of a blush crawled up her cheek. "Well, yes . . . but that was two nights ago." She took the piece of wood out of his hands. "I've taken it apart every night since just for fun."

He raised an eyebrow at her idea of fun, but didn't say anything as she started to reassemble the weapon.  _She'd done this every night?_  Had he really been that lost in his own thoughts, not to notice?

She finished reassembling the crossbow and set it aside, before sitting back with her hands on her lap and looking at him expectantly.

 _Right._ He had started this conversation for a reason. "So, I've been thinking," he said. "We should probably talk about where we intend to go. After Lothering, I mean."

Elissa's eyebrows shot upward and she sat up straighter. "Yes!" she said, clapping her hands together. "I have a  _lot_  of thoughts on this," she began, before frowning and bringing herself up short. "Forgive me . . . Perhaps you had some ideas on the subject?"

"Um, yeah," he said, blinking in surprise at the swift mood swing. "Well . . . you've been reading those treaties, right?" She'd asked for them their first night in the Wilds. "I still think that's the best plan."

She nodded briskly. "Indeed I have, and I agree." She swept aside the blanket that she had spread in front of her and then picked up a small stick beside her and started drawing an uneven, roundish shape in the dirt. "There are three main groups represented in the treaties." She drew a large teardrop on the left side of the area. "The Circle Tower is here," she said, drawing what looked like a rook from a game of chess on the upper right of the teardrop.

"Oh, that's Lake Calenhad!" he exclaimed.

The look Elissa gave him at that almost made him laugh, so exasperated was it. " _Obviously_ ," she said, with a roll of her eyes, before drawing a series of 'V's, upside down, along the left hand side of the lake. _The Frostback Mountains_ , he realized, but didn't say aloud, not wanting to earn another eye roll. She drew an "O" near the top of the mountain range. "And over here we have Orzammar, the underground city of the dwarves," she said, giving a little shudder.

"What's the matter?"

"I'm not eager to go near the Deep Roads," she said quietly, not looking up at him.

He couldn't say he blamed her, but felt an imperative to lighten her mood. "Well, you know what they say," he said, leaning forward to catch her eye. When she looked up at him he went on. "During a Blight is the best time to tour the Deep Roads. You beat the crowds that way!" He gave her a goofy grin.

She blinked at him a moment, before asking, "Is that a joke?"

He winced. "Well, it's not a good one if you have to ask."

She stared at him blankly for another moment before her face lit up. "Oh! I get it. Very funny," she said, before turning back to her dirt map.

A smile, born half of confusion and half of amusement started to make its way across his face. "Um, thanks. . ."

She ignored him and drew a "D" with a circle around it in the upper right part of the map, before muttering, "That's Denerim." She drew a cloud of trees underneath it. "And we've also got a treaty for the Dalish. How we are going to find a wandering clan of elves in the Brecilian Forest is beyond me."

"Well, I know a village here," Alistair said, leaning over to draw an 'X' in the dirt with his finger along the outskirts of the forest. "We could ask around there to see if any clans have been by recently."

"Wonderful. So that's all the treaties. But don't forget," she said, drawing an "R" on the bottom of Lake Calenhad. "There's also your  _excellent_  suggestion of going to Redcliffe to see Arl Eamon."

He smiled to himself at the compliment. "So . . . where do we go first?"

Elissa looked at him uncertainly. "Where do  _you_  want to go first?"

Alistair's eyes widened and he shook his head. "I don't know where we should go. I'll do whatever you decide."

She studied him a moment, before nodding and taking a deep breath. "The way I see it, we have a limited window of time to act without Loghain knowing we survived—"

"You think Loghain will be looking for us?"

She gave him another exasperated look. "Of course he will. Who do you think he'll pin the loss of Ostagar on? He already distrusts the Wardens."

Alistair felt his blood rushing to his ears. "But . . . how can he blame  _us_  for it? We lit the signal! And the rest of the Wardens died at Ostagar!" He felt a knot of grief return at the thought of Duncan.

Elissa watched him carefully, and Alistair realized his voice had cracked at the last part. She was probably worried that he was going to dissolve into grief, he thought with a rush of guilt. He scowled at the map, determined not to break down again in front of her.

"Let's hope others find it as unbelievable as you do," Elissa said gently. "But I think it's a safe assumption from which to operate. If he knows that we live, I'm sure he'll take steps to correct that. We should take care not to reveal ourselves as Wardens when we go to Lothering."

Alistair could see the truth in her words even if he wanted to choke on the idea that the Wardens could be considered traitors by anyone. "I suppose we should."

"So, given that assumption, we should go somewhere  _now_  that is more likely to be watched by Loghain  _later_."

Alistair nodded, impressed by the logic. "Loghain doesn't know about the treaties, so he won't know where we need to go."

"Right," she said enthusiastically. " _But_ , it's conceivable that he might guess we'd go to Redcliffe, right?"

He nodded slowly. "You're right. He might realize that we'd go to the Arl and appeal for help."

"So that settles it," Elissa said crisply. "Our first destination after Lothering will be Redcliffe. So we can go to Eamon and ask for his help before Loghain realizes we survived." She sighed and gave him a warm smile. "And Eamon will know what to do about _you._ "

He looked up at her sharply at that, something in her tone making him wary. "What do you mean, 'do about me'?"

Elissa opened her mouth to speak before snapping it closed again and looking away. A cold rush of dread whirled through him. "Elissa . . ." She turned back to look at him, eyes defiant and mouth in a thin line. " _What_  are you talking about?"

She took a deep breath. "You forbade me to speak of it."

"I  _forbade_  you . . . ?" He didn't go around  _forbidding_  people. He would  _never_ —then of course, it hit him: their conversation after the bridge near the Tower. The feeling of dread built up inside him. "Oh. You mean . . .  _that_." Comprehension dawned . . . the way she'd been deferring to him, her enthusiasm for going to see Arl Eamon . . .  _Is that why she'd said my joke was funny?_ "Wait a minute . . . you're not thinking what I think you're thinking, are you?"

Elissa raised an eyebrow at him. "Probably not. I'm probably  _far_  ahead of you in that department." Normally he would have laughed at the serious way she said that. But he was too agitated to laugh now.

"I'm not . . . you're not thinking that  _I'm_  the heir to the throne now, are you?"

"No," Elissa said quickly, startling him. A warm feeling of relief started to flow through him. "I've gone  _way_  past that point in my thinking," she said with a wide grin, and he felt his stomach plummet again.

"Maker's breath,  _no_! I don't think . . . you don't  _really_  think so, do you? I'm a bastard, and nobody even knows about me!"

"Arl Eamon knows, right?" she said brightly, before looking away, careful not to meet his gaze. "You said he brought you up in Redcliffe, didn't you?"

He glared at her then, a ridiculous feeling of anger flaring up at this latest violation. "I  _didn't_  actually." He hadn't told her anything—she'd simply guessed it all. "No, I distinctly remember telling you that  _dogs_  raised me. Giant, slobbering dogs from the Anderfels. A whole pack of them, in fact." He spit the words out, knowing that he was being petty—it wasn't like he kept the fact that Arl Eamon raised him a secret. But it was just one more thing she knew about him without him telling her, and at this point, it was one thing too many.

She stared at him, her face going from angry to confused and back to angry. "That's . . . that's  _not_ true," she said, not a trace of humor in her tone.

Alistair gaped at her.  _"Maker's breath_ , are you for real?"

She must have realized,  _finally_ , that he'd been kidding, because her brow furrowed into a deep scowl and her eyes flashed in anger. "Does Arl Eamon know who you are or not?" she snapped.

He blinked, suddenly brought back to the whole reason for their argument. "Yes," he answered, not really sure why, when only a moment ago he'd been too pissed off to confirm anything for her.

"So," she said stiffly. "Arl Eamon will know what to do with you."

"No," he said sharply, before taking a deep breath and attempting to speak more softly, hoping to quell the panic that'd been rising up within him. "Listen, Elissa. I'm the son of a commoner, and a Grey Warden to boot. It was made  _very_  clear to me early on that there was no room for me raising any rebellions or such nonsense."

She closed her eyes and shook her head. "What do you think we've been planning," she said, opening her eyes to blink at him in angry confusion. "You said yourself that we'd go up against Loghain and that there'd be a civil war."

"Yeah, but not for me!" he practically screeched in response. He took a deep breath, trying not to sound so panicked. "And that's fine by me. No, if there's an heir to be found, it's Arl Eamon himself. He's not of royal blood, but he is Cailan's uncle . . . and more importantly, very popular with the people. So, if we could just move on . . . forget what you know about my father. Pretend I'm just some nobody who was too lucky to die with the rest of the Grey Wardens."

"That's  _impossible_ ," she said, sounding completely earnest. "I can't just  _forget_  what I know. And I won't pretend I don't know. I can't do that! I have to use all facts available to me to make decisions and guide my thinking!"

He let out a breath and closed his eyes, trying to calm his breathing.  _Maker_ , she was so sodding  _literal._  "I just meant . . ." He opened his eyes and tried to give her a level look. "I'd prefer it if you just . . . didn't treat me any differently."

She regarded him a moment in confusion before giving a shrug. "Well, of course not," she said, matter-of-factly. "Technically, you're still just a royal bastard. It wouldn't be proper to grant you the honorifics of a king until after the Landsmeet's decided."

He stared at her, unbelieving. Was she making a joke? But she never was, of course. "I don't just mean  _titles_. I don't want to be king! The very idea of it terrifies me."

"You don't want to be king? Why ever not?" She looked at him as if he'd just said the sun was made of cheddar.

He gaped at her. "Hello? Have you met me? I . . . I'm no leader of men. I don't want to be the person sitting on the throne and making decisions that affect the lives of others." He shuddered. "That . . . it just isn't me."

He was astonished to see the hard, cold glint in her eyes. "Do you think I give a  _rat's ass_  about what you want?" she snapped, and as upset as he was, Alistair couldn't help being taken aback by the venom in her voice. "Do you think I wanted  _this_  future for myself?  _Really_? Do you think  _this_  is the life  _I_  dreamt of as a little girl?"

"No, of course not," he said, feeling a swell of sympathy in spite of everything. She had a point, but he most emphatically did not want to see it right now.

"That's right, it's not. But I am doing my duty and you will too, by the Void, Alistair  _Theirin._ " His face felt like it'd been lit on fire at the snide tone she used with his last name. He opened his mouth to object, but she leapt to her feet and pointed a finger in his face. "We will go to Arl Eamon and he will tell you the same thing as me.  _You_  are the heir to the throne and  _you_  will be king." She pressed her finger into his chest each time she said  _you._

She reminded him vividly of every woman in his life that spoke to him in that tone-from Isolde to the disapproving sisters in the monastery. His anger flared back to life and he quickly rose to his feet so he could glare down at her. "Oh is that a fact?"

She looked up at him, clearly unintimidated. "Yes. And once you are king, you will reinstate my brother as Teyrn of Highever," she said through gritted teeth.

He blinked down in surprise, his own anger wavering at the mention of her brother. It was the first time she'd brought him up since . . . well, since before the battle of Ostagar. Her lip trembled, and he saw her eyes go watery, but she gave her head a small shake and went on.

"Or, more than likely he is dead and you'll make me Teyrna," she finished, angrily blinking away tears that threatened to fall.

He took a deep breath and looked away, annoyed at how her sorrow tugged at his heartstrings. But he wasn't going to be  _king_  just because she looked at him with those big green eyes of hers, was he? He sighed and turned back to her. "I don't suppose it'd matter if I pointed out that Grey Wardens forfeit any rights to land or titles when they join the order, would it?"

She looked at him out of the corners of her eyes, clearly hearing the note of capitulation that had crept into his tone in spite of himself. " _Fortunately_ , you'll set a precedent when you ascend the throne yourself."

He couldn't help it. He snorted a laugh. "Maker's breath, you've really thought this all out haven't you?"

She squared her shoulders and faced him, suddenly serious again. "King Cailan  _promised_  me that after Ostagar, he'd send the army north to retake Highever and bring Howe to justice. He died before he could fulfill that promise but . . . you're his brother. If you have any sort of honor at all, you'll fulfill his vow to me." She thrust her chin out at him at the end and looked up at him defiantly as if daring him to disagree.

He felt cornered. She was just going to keep hammering away at his arguments until he caved; he saw that now. Still, there was a part of him that rebelled at yet again having his choices made for him. "You've known me only a few days, and you're asking for this? What are you going to ask for next week?"

She looked at the ground and crossed her arms to her chest, and he was just about to tell her was only kidding, when she looked up at him and declared, "You snore."

His mouth gaped open at the non sequitur but he closed it after only a second. "I suppose you have some point to make and you're not just complaining?"

She glared at him sullenly a moment before sighing and looking away. "At night, I wake up after some horrible nightmare, and before I really even know where I am, I hear  _you_  snoring." She looked at her feet as she spoke. "And each time, I think to myself _Alistair is alive. I'm not alone._ " She looked up at him then, with those big green eyes of hers, and he saw the utter despair and misery in them uncloaked, and he knew he'd already lost this argument. "Maybe this is too much to ask of someone I just met but . . ." She shrugged. "But you're literally the only person I have left in the whole world. I don't have anyone else to ask."

He looked at his feet, feeling his throat constrict at the raw truth of her words. However she might frustrate or annoy him, what she said was true on his part as well. They didn't have anyone else in this world, because everyone was gone. He felt the all too familiar surge of grief that had overtaken him completely for the last three days and willed it back down, shaking his head and staring at the ground. Finally, he looked up at her helplessly. "I . . . don't know."

She looked at him defiantly through eyes that were filled with tears. "I haven't known you long, but I know you take your word seriously. If you promise something, you'll do it." She leaned forward now, the light of some new emotion flickering in her gaze. "And you  _will_  promise me this."

He stared at her, wanting to argue that she couldn't possibly know all that. But this was Elissa. The Girl Who Knew Everything. She was right about one thing, he supposed.  _If_  he did make such a promise, he  _would_ do everything in his power to fulfill it. Still, he was holding out. "And  _why_ are you so sure of that?"

"Because," she said, narrowing her eyes. "You want revenge against Loghain."

 _Loghain._ The thought of the traitor set Alistair's teeth on edge.  _Maker_ , how he hated him. She saw the look that passed over his face at the name and stepped forward.

"You want revenge against him almost as much as I want revenge against Howe." Her eye twitched when at the name _._  She stood inches from Alistair, glaring up at him. "Trust me, Alistair. I will make both of those men  _pay_  before I am done."

She was beautiful in that instant, he thought as he looked down at her, standing so close to him. Beautiful but also strangely . . . terrifying. Her eyes had a crazy gleam and her mouth was curved into a feral smile. There was desire in that look—enough to heat his blood and make his breathing go shallow—but it was a dark desire, a desire born out of hatred and the need for vengeance.

He believed her, he realized. She could make Loghain pay for what he'd done, if anyone could. As if reading his thoughts, she rose up on her tiptoes and whispered. "We'll take his throne and put a Grey Warden on it. What better revenge could we have?"

"I want him dead," he whispered down at her, and she nodded, triumphant fire in her eyes.

"Count on it," she breathed, looking exultant.

Before he could reply, they heard a rustling in the underbrush. It sounded like someone, or some _thing_ , was making its way to the top of the hill at a determined pace.

The strange intensity of the moment before was gone, replaced by the rapid-fire panic of ensuing battle. Alistair snapped into action, diving to the side and grabbing his sword and shield where he'd apparently left them by the fire and quickly donning them. Elissa came up beside him, crossbow in hand, quickly scrambling with her quiver to get a bolt loaded into it. "Get behind me," he snapped, unceremoniously pushing her behind him with his sword arm.

She made a noise of protest, but a moment later something burst into the opening and he whirled around to meet the threat.

Before he could even assess the blurred shape barreling at them, Elissa gave a strangled cry and shot past him. He could do nothing but gape when she fell to her knees in front of a matted, filthy creature. It took a solid three seconds before he recognized the monster as her mabari, Prince.

"Oh Prince! You're alive! I can't believe it!" Elissa was sobbing in pure joy, not caring how dirty the filthy animal was, grabbing him around the neck and clinging to him. She buried her face in his fur while he gave a happy  _woof_  in greeting.

Slowly, Alistair lowered his sword arm to let his weapon dangle uselessly at his side. As he watched the joyous reunion in front of him he felt something inside him hollow out and become brittle.

What kind of ass was he, not to feel happy for Elissa in her moment of joy? Certainly she deserved it. But as he watched the mabari and the noblewoman greet each other, all he could think was that he'd never in his life had anyone who'd ever been that happy to see  _him_.

And he likely never would, if he kept behaving like a whiny child, he thought to himself, echoing what Morrigan must have said about him dozens of times so far on this little trip. "Elissa."

She turned to look at him, a huge smile plastered over her face, along with some lovely new streaks of mud across her cheek where she'd pressed it into the dog's fur. She saw his haunted expression and the smile faltered, looking confused.

"You're right," he said, before she could ask. "Of course, you're always right," he muttered to himself, before taking a deep breath and getting on with it. "I promise . . . I'll help you get your teyrn back." Her face lit up with delight, but he lifted up his hand in protest. "I'm  _not_  saying that I'm ready to be king," he amended quickly. "I still don't think that's going to happen . . . but I'll do everything in my power to help you get Highever back. I promise."

Elissa beamed up at him and opened her mouth to speak, but before she could there was a flash of light beside them, and then Morrigan appeared, back from wherever she'd been haunting. "Ah. So you have finally decided to rejoin us, have you?" She sneered at Alistair. "Falling on your blade in grief seemed like too much trouble, I take it?"

He felt disgust well up inside him at the callous words, but before he could form a reply Elissa snorted indecorously from her place on the ground by Prince. "Loghain  _wishes_  it'd be that easy for him," she said with an enthusiastic and wicked gleam in her eye. She raised her eyebrows at Alistair. "He doesn't even know about  _me,_ " she said with a grin filled with equal parts glee and malice. It was an odd enough combination to make him bark out a laugh.

The witch gave a snort of disgust. "What are you doing with that foul, flea-bitten creature?"

The mabari whined at the witch, raising one eyebrow and then the other before dipping its head to the ground and looking up at Morrigan with puppy dog eyes.

Elissa gasped. "You hurt his feelings! That was very rude."

Morrigan sneered at the warden. "Let me guess. This foul beast who has been hounding me all day belongs to  _you_?"

The dog stood up, pleading eyes forgotten in a fit of happy pride at being recognized as Elissa's. He barked happily and Elissa actually  _giggled._ "Prince, meet Morrigan. Morrigan, this is my best friend, Prince." She beamed up at the witch.

Morrigan crossed her arms. "Do we not have enough problems without adding fending for a  _domesticated_  animal to the list?"

Elissa scratched her mabari's head. "Don't listen to her Princie. She just misses her mommy!" She spoke in that exaggerated way Alistair had heard mothers speak to their babies.

His eyes bulged out, and he snapped his gaze to Morrigan to see how she'd react. She didn't disappoint. He swore her ears turned red in an instant, and she scowled at them both.

"'Tis a wonder you didn't bring the entire horde down upon us with all the shouting you were doing earlier," she hissed. "Keep your voices down! And keep that mongrel away from me." She turned on her heel with that, and Alistair watched her walk to the very edge of the hill to her own little camp she'd apparently set up away from them.

He turned back to Elissa with a laugh, wondering what other priceless exchanges he'd missed between the two women. At the very least, he had that to look forward to, now that he'd decided to start paying attention.

Elissa shook her head. "She  _really_  doesn't like you, does she?" she said, a look of pure wonder on her face.

His eyes and mouth opened wide simultaneously. She couldn't be  _serious._  But he looked at her face and . . . nope. Not a trace of self-awareness in that bemused expression. It was just . . .

He started shaking, silently succumbing to the kind of bone-deep amusement that was too intense for sound. He clutched his stomach and bent over, shoulders trembling as he tried without success to tamp down the laughter.

Of course, he looked up and saw her staring at him completely confused, and it was over. The laughter shot out of him, loud and high-pitched and more than a little manic, it didn't stop for a long, long time. Just the thought of trying to explain  _why_  he was laughing to Elissa . . . this brilliant, stubborn, clever girl who was so literal it  _hurt_  . . . it just made him laugh even harder, and he didn't stop until well after she had snorted at him in disgust, all her pleas for him to explain what the hell was  _so Maker blasted funny_  failing to work on the madness of his laughter.


	13. Supply

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang arrives in Lothering where they learn some bad news about the Arl.

_Everything has a reason for it  
_ _Everyone has a story to tell  
_ _Everything has a reason for it  
_ _Everyone has a story, don't they?  
_ — _Walk By,_ Meiko __  


"What?"

"You told those bandits we were Grey Wardens."

"You said to intimidate them." Alistair shrugged. "It worked, didn't it?"

Elissa glared up at him from her place on the steps that led from the Imperial Highway into Lothering. A distant part of her mind knew that she was overreacting, but she was so blasted hungry she could barely  _think_ , let alone control her irritability on a day like today: hot and uncomfortable in more ways than one.

"I  _told_  you that Loghain would be searching for us. I said he'd pin the loss of Ostagar on the wardens—"

"I don't think those bandits are going to go running to Loghain any time soon. Besides, I thought you wanted to  _avoid_  a fight."

That was true, but Elissa wasn't inclined to see reason this morning. She opened her mouth to speak but Morrigan piped up first as she brushed by them. "We should have taught those fools a lesson."

Alistair started to look as irritated as Elissa felt. "There were  _five_ of them," he snapped. "They outnumbered us."

"They should have been no match for a couple of Grey Wardens."

She couldn't see Morrigan's expression but something in the witch's tone made her gulp. She was right: a couple of Grey Wardens  _should_  have been able to handle a few bandits. "Yeah, well, no harm done, I suppose," she said, turning on her heel to follow Morrigan into the village, but not before she caught the raised eyebrow her change in attitude elicited from Alistair.

"Right," she heard him say from behind her as he followed her down the stairs. The slightly amused tone set her teeth on edge. If he started laughing at her again this morning, she wasn't sure what she might do.

Any thoughts of her own troubles, however, were quickly diminished as they headed into the village.

"It's just a guess, but I'm thinking everyone in Lothering is aware of the approaching darkspawn horde," Alistair said amiably as he came up to walk beside her.

Elissa unconsciously put one hand on her mabari's head and the other to her nose as they walked through the refugee camp that surrounded what was once a small village. A steady stream of people strode by them, each family carrying such items they couldn't or wouldn't leave behind. There wasn't enough room for so many people. Tents were stacked practically on top of each other, and the smell of so many people forced to live outside in one place was overwhelming.

She watched as a young man and woman tried to comfort their crying child. The child's face was streaked with dirt, and the man and woman appeared tired, defeated. The father finally growled in frustration and slapped the young boy, making him wail even louder. Elissa turned away, trying to ignore the pain that flared to life at the sight of a child Oren's age.

Morrigan sneered at the peasants that walked by them, giving their group a wide berth—no doubt frightened of the heavily armed strangers. "Ah, look how they moan and wail and gnash their teeth," she said in a sing-song voice. "'Tis sad to watch how helplessly they scurry about."

"Nice. Your compassion is an example to us all," Alistair said, sarcastically.

"Both of you shut up!" Elissa whirled on the other two, feeling her irritation flare into something deeper. Now that Alistair had decided to quit wallowing, he no longer bore Morrigan's snide comments in silence. The pair had been grating on Elissa's nerves all morning. "If I have to listen to more of your bickering I'm going to explode."

They both fell silent; Alistair gave her a curious look while Morrigan simply glared. She ignored them.

"You there!" A Templar stood in the middle of the path going into the village. He gestured at Elissa's party. "If you're looking for safe shelter, I'll warn you: There's none to be found. Move on if you can. Lothering's lost."

Elissa blinked up at the Templar, surprised at the note of defeat she heard in the man's voice. She narrowed her eyes, realizing in an instant that her dreams of food and shelter in something resembling civilization were just that—pipe dreams. "Let me guess: There's no shelter or food to be had here?"

The Templar's helmet hid his face, but the man shrugged. "We've had refugees streaming from the south for the last two days. The chantry and tavern are full to bursting."

"Are you saying we can't go in?" she asked, more sharply than perhaps strictly necessary.

"I'm just warning you things may not be as hospitable as you'd expect. People are frightened."

"Thanks for the warning," she said, walking past. She tried to ignore the anxiety that rose up in her at the Templar's word. It was just a small village, she told herself—nothing to be afraid of.

They'd barely taken two steps before finding themselves entangled in a confrontation between a profiteering merchant and a Chantry sister. The merchant had called out for their intervention, and when Elissa pointed out that the man could still make a profit without beggaring the rest of the village, he relented—after stating clearly that their party would receive no such discount. A wild urge to slit the unscrupulous businessman's throat right then and there nearly had her reaching for her sword, but she tamped it down, realizing how absurd the impulse was.

Morrigan didn't approve. "So . . . we have come to solve every squabble in the village, personally? My, but the darkspawn will be  _impressed._ "

She was about to snap that her notion was  _ridiculous_  when she caught the witch's expression and realized she was being sarcastic. Elissa almost snorted in frustration.  _Maker,_  did she hate that. "I think we can spare the few seconds it takes to engender a little goodwill among the villagers here,  _Morrigan_." She took a step closer and said in a low voice. "Don't forget, we are outlaws now. If anyone recognizes us, remembering that we were actually  _helpful_  might prevent them from informing on us."

Morrigan remained unimpressed. "And yet we let the bandits linger outside the village limits, free to harass more refugees. I daresay ending them would have brought more of this  _good will_  you speak of than interfering with a merchant's business practices."

She had no good response to that, and that made her furious. All she could do was glower mutely back at the witch, nostrils flaring, before finally giving a huff and turning on her heel to head further into the village. She heard Morrigan give a snort of amusement behind her.

 _Great. Now they are_ both _laughing at me._

She stomped her way through the village, seething at the injustice of having to travel with such difficult people. In spite of the death glare she gave to any eye she met, people still called out to their little party for help. Their well-armed and armored appearance must've given off the impression of competence, because it seemed like everyone in the village wanted something from her. She wasn't so far gone in her anger to take it out on the poor elven refugees who begged them for bread or coin, but the helplessness she felt at not being able to assist them gave way to ire when the mother scoffed when she told them she didn't have any coin to spare.

She bit back a scathing reply and turned away, only to almost smack her face into Alistair's chest. She glared up at him angrily. "Move!" she snapped, gesturing with her arm.

Alistair, for his part, remained unperturbed. "Elissa," he said in a calming tone. "Do you think you might be a little irritable because you're so hungry?"

Elissa's eyes bulged wide. "I am  _not_  irritable!" She saw the amused smile start to form on Alistair's lips and fought the urge to smack it off his face. She took a deep breath.  _Think, you fool._ How did he know she was so hungry? She'd been careful not to complain. She peered at him shrewdly, trying to slow her heartbeat by sheer force of will. "Why? Is this . . . is this a  _side effect_?" she asked, hand going unconsciously to the amulet at her neck.

He gave a little shrug. "Yeah, it's especially bad right after you join."

"Oh," she said, staring down at the ground and fighting back sudden tears of frustration. It was only hunger, but it was playing havoc with her emotions, and she had a hard enough time keeping a lid on those lately anyway without adding starvation to the mix. "So that means we need even  _more_  food? That we have no money for?" She looked up at Alistair helplessly.

He seemed sympathetic. "We'll figure it out. Remember we can check the Chantry board for work around here."

The idea of actually having to work for money wasn't a pleasant one, either, but she merely nodded mutely in response, not wanting to voice her unease any more than she already had. She felt like a grumpy toddler, all frustrated and on the edge of tears just because she was hungry. If she complained about having to work for food now she would never forgive herself.

The Chantry board  _did_  have work, though it did nothing to raise Elissa's spirits. "Bandit killing?" she said, trying to keep the despair out of her voice.

Alistair gave her an understanding look. "There might be other work available if we ask around—"

"Your distaste for battle is curious," Morrigan interrupted. At Elissa's glare she went on. "While ordinarily I would have no interest in doing the Chantry's bidding, passing up the chance to earn this kind of coin strikes me as most imprudent—especially given our current need for both supplies and money."

Once again, she didn't have a good answer for Morrigan—at least, none that she wanted to share with the swamp witch. They'd been lucky enough to avoid any confrontation with the darkspawn or any other enemies on their trek through the Wilds, so Elissa's inexperience hadn't come up. She hadn't given it much thought until the confrontation with the bandits outside the village had brought all of her insecurities flaring back to life.

She knew she would probably have to admit her shortcomings sooner or later to the witch who traveled with them, but she was loath to admit to any weakness. "Yes, well . . . we'll see," was all she managed before heading into the Chantry.

The inside of the Chantry didn't offer any better news than the outside. The Templar in charge—Ser Bryant—initially mistook them for knights from Redcliffe. Apparently the Arl had fallen ill, and the Arlessa had sent their knights off in search of the fabled Urn of Sacred Ashes to cure him. Elissa spared a glance at Alistair at the news and saw his wan expression. She wondered guiltily just how close Alistair and the Arl were—he hadn't shared any details of his upbringing, but she could guess from the way he worried that he regarded the Arl as something more than just his childhood custodian.

From Ser Bryant they also learned that Loghain was setting himself up as king—no surprise there— and that he had called the Bann of Lothering's army away with him to Denerim. The village had been abandoned. Elissa was still seething at this news when they heard a voice call out.

"Alistair?"

They all whirled around at the name. A knight stood in front of a large book on a podium.

Alistair started next to her. "Ser Donall? Is that you?"

"By the Maker, how are you? I . . . I was certain you were dead!" The two men clasped each other's hands fondly. Elissa glanced around, a little nervous at her fellow warden being recognized. At least the man didn't blurt out that they were Grey Wardens . . . yet.

Alistair's face hardened. "Not yet, no thanks to Teyrn Loghain."

"If Arl Eamon were well he'd set Loghain straight soon enough."

Alistair shared a worried glance with her. "So you're here looking for the Urn of Sacred Ashes, then?"

The man nodded. "I am indeed. Andraste's ashes are said to cure any illness. But I fear we are chasing a fable. With each day, my hope dims."

Elissa didn't put much stock in fables and legends, but she found the knight's presence curious. "So your quest for the ashes brought you here?"

"I expected to take advantage of the chantry's library, in fact, but my skills are better suited to battle than chasing down tales."

"Did you learn anything of value?"

The man shook his head. "Nothing I have found leads me to believe that this was anything more than a quest of desperation." He gave her an appraising look. "If you're truly interested, there are books here containing a great deal of lore."

She wasn't, but the library intrigued her nonetheless. The chantry in Lothering was obviously a very old institution. She had to wonder what other lore those books might contain. Perhaps there were tomes concerning the Grey Wardens there that she might study? The fact that she and Alistair knew so little about how to defeat the Blight had been bothering her ever since they'd left Flemeth's hut. She'd resolved herself to waiting until they made Kinloch Hold to do any research, but perhaps Lothering's chantry could offer a clue? Her stomach growled and she was reminded of her more pressing concerns. Maybe later . . .

Alistair sighed next to her. "We were hoping to see Arl Eamon ourselves, actually."

"Why is that, if I may ask?"

Alistair gave her a questioning look. She shrugged. The man already knew who Alistair was and seemed fond of him. There was likely little harm in revealing their mission, so for once Elissa opted for transparency. "We need his help against Teyrn Loghain."

The man stiffened at first, but then nodded in understanding. "I see. The arl is a popular man, it's true. Teyrn Loghain, however, is a hero throughout Ferelden. Whatever the teyrn has done or not done, the arl remains ill, or worse. That is my primary concern."

Elissa bit her lip; the knight's words sparked a flash of insight. Was it just a coincidence that the one noble capable of challenging Teyrn Loghain fell ill now? "Do you think Loghain is involved with the arl's illness?"

"The arl fell ill before the king died." The knight paused, turning vexed. "But what if Loghain planned that, too? Ah, such thoughts do not sit well with me."

Alistair shot her a worried glance. "We should see what's happening in Redcliffe ourselves. I believe that now more than ever."

Elissa wasn't so sure, but nodded anyway, worry sinking into her gut and making it churn worse than the hunger did. If Eamon died . . . she didn't want to think about where that left them. But, if Loghain  _had_  been involved (and she'd half convinced herself already that he was—it was just too damn convenient for him to fall ill  _now_ ) that likely meant the use of poison. She knew a thing or two about poisons, so she might be able to help. She gave Alistair a tiny smile and a nod, and he seemed a little reassured.

They bid the knight farewell with some disquiet, and then the four of them left the chantry and headed for the local tavern, where Morrigan assured them that they'd be able to find more news.

Elissa's head started to ache, and she was certain if she held her hand out to check, she'd see it shake from the hunger she was feeling. She did her best to ignore it and concentrate on the tasks at hand. Before they made it to the tavern they managed to speak with Elder Miriam and another young woman from town that both had need of supplies Elissa thought she could provide. The Elder wanted healing potions, and Allison—a frightened young woman who stuttered when she spoke—had need of a few traps. They both promised to pay for the work, and Elissa felt a little better about their prospects at finding a meal when they crossed the threshold into Dane's Refuge.

Her optimism fled as soon as they entered the tavern. When they stepped inside they were immediately confronted by several well-armed men.

"Well. Look what we have here, men. I think we've just been blessed!" A big man in heavy chainmail sneered at Elissa and Alistair.

"Uh-oh. Loghain's men. This can't be good," Alistair said under his breath.

Elissa's eyes went wide and she found it hard to breath. Her heart hammered in her chest and she felt her blood rushing in her ears.

"Didn't we spend all morning asking about a man and woman with this very description? And everyone said they hadn't seen them? It seems we were lied to."

The villagers had covered for them, it seemed.  _See Morrigan, I told you so!_ Elissa had wanted to gloat to the swamp witch, but she couldn't find the breath to make words. She felt light-headed and her vision had started to constrict.

"Gentlemen, surely there is no need for trouble." A gentle, Orlesian accent sounded like it was coming from a great distance. A pretty red-haired Chantry sister came into her view. Elissa had to squint to focus on her. "These are no doubt simply more poor souls seeking refuge."

"They're more than that," the soldier snapped. "Now stay out of our way, Sister. You protect these traitors, you'll get the same as them."

 _We're not the traitors! Loghain is!_  Her mouth was dry. She couldn't  _think_  let alone speak. She thought Alistair was talking next to her but his voice sounded like it was under water. The next thing she knew, her vision tunneled and her knees buckled.

And then everything went black.

* * *

It was a smell that roused her—a tantalizingly savory aroma tickled her nose, making her ravenous hunger flare to life once again. Elissa blinked awake, feeling like her head was splitting in half right down the middle of her forehead. Light streamed down from a small rectangular window at the top of the wall, hurting her eyes and making her squint. She turned her head to look around when a wet nose was pressed into her cheek.

"Ugh!" she said, wiping her face and pushing Prince away.

She was in a single bed in a sparsely decorated room. The pretty red-haired woman from the tavern set a tray of steaming food on a small table. Elissa's mouth started watering at the sight of the steaming bowl of soup and the crust of bread sitting next to it.

"You're awake!" The woman's accent was Orlesian. She had bright blue eyes that twinkled as she smiled. Elissa blinked at the woman, trying to remember how she'd gotten here. "You're in the chantry in Lothering," the woman said, seeing Elissa's confusion.

"I know," she said crossly, sitting up.

The woman raised her eyebrows but simply gestured at the soup. "This is for you—"

That was all the invitation Elissa needed. She stood too quickly, making the room seem to spin as she walked over to the small table on wobbly legs. She collapsed into the chair and grabbed the bread, tearing off a huge chunk and shoving it in her mouth.

The woman watched her as Elissa dove into the food, all her manners and etiquette forgotten in the face of her terrible hunger. Her hands shook and she still felt light headed, but the soup seemed to go right to her bloodstream, calming her shattered nerves and allowing her to  _think._

She looked over at the red-haired woman again. "I am Leliana," the woman said with a pretty smile. "I'm a chantry sister here in Lothering. You fainted back at the tavern. Your friend said you hadn't eaten all day."

She was mortified with shame. She'd  _fainted?_ Maker, what a terrible day this was turning out to be. And Alistair had covered for her. Again. "Where is Alistair?" she asked around a mouthful of bread.

"We are in the sisters' wing of the chantry. Men are not allowed here. Neither are dogs, but your friend was more willing to follow the rules than your mabari."

Prince wagged his tail happily and pressed his nose into Elissa's thigh. She absentmindedly patted him on the head before returning to her food.

She spared a few glances at the woman as she wolfed down her meal. Lelaina no longer wore the robes of the Chantry, but had changed into leather armor similar to what Elissa was wearing. A pack lay on the desk along the opposite wall, and a belt hung from the post on the bed with two daggers hanging from them. "I remember you now. You tried to intervene back at the tavern."

"I apologize for interfering. But I couldn't just sit by and not help. Sadly Loghain's men could not be dissuaded. But your friends took care of it." Her face fell. "Unfortunately I could not convince Alistair to spare their lives."

Elissa's eyebrows shot up. "Good," she said harshly, returning to her food, ignoring the little hum of disappointment that escaped Leliana at that. Elissa was glad Alistair hadn't hesitated in killing those men. He'd learned his lesson from the bandits, apparently.

Leliana let her eat in silence until Elissa slurped the last of the soup out of the bowl. "So . . . you're a Grey Warden," she said at last.

Elissa set the bowl down with a contented sigh and then turned to the woman. She cocked her head to the side. "You're no chantry sister," she said after a moment of scrutiny.

Leliana gave a little start at the change of topic, but then recovered. "I assure you that I am," she said mildly. "Or at least . . . I was."

Elissa's gaze landed significantly on the daggers hanging from the bed, before returning to Leliana. "Where does a chantry sister learn to fight with those?"

Leliana shrugged. "I wasn't born in the chantry, you know," she said in a gently teasing tone. "I had a life before I joined. Surely as you did before you came to the Grey Wardens."

Elissa steadfastly ignored the grief that flared up in her at the woman's words. That wasn't important right now. She pursed her lips as she studied the woman before her. The casual grace, the elegant mannerisms, her easy rapport. No, this woman was far more than a simple chantry sister.

"You've been in Ferelden what? A year? Maybe two?" Her accent was fading, but still very noticeable. She remembered how Oriana's accent had faded over the years with another twinge of grief.

Leliana's mouth parted into a surprised smile. "Two years in fact." Her grin became wide. "Alistair warned me about you."

Elissa fought to keep the panic from showing on her face. That could mean so many things. Warned her that she was an inept warden who fainted at the first sight of battle? Or warned her that she was a bratty noble who liked to snap at people for no reason? "Warned you about what?"

"He said you would awake and start telling me all of my secrets," Leliana said with a charming smile.

"Oh." She narrowed her eyes at the woman, trying to quell the irritation that had flared to life in her again. It wasn't Leliana's fault Alistair had spilled the beans, but she couldn't help feeling annoyed with the woman's smooth, nonchalant attitude.

She looked around the room. It was small, of course. The chantry wasn't about luxury and space. The room had no decoration, save for a symbol of Andraste carved into one wall. The woman's personal effects were few: in addition to the pack and daggers a small lute sat in one corner.

She turned back to Leliana. "You're not a noble," she said, enjoying the furrowed brow her words elicited. She gave a little smile in return. "Your attitude's all wrong, especially for an  _Orlesian_  noble. But you were raised around money weren't you?" She snapped her fingers. "You were a lady-in-waiting for an Orlesian noblewoman I'd bet! At least, before you turned to a life of crime . . ."

Finally, that smug, even-keeled expression started to falter. "The chantry doesn't pry. Why should you?" she said hotly.

Elissa gave a little grin of satisfaction for having ruffled the smooth talker's feathers. She sat back in her chair and crossed her arms, looking around the small room and noting the significant details.

Her eyes landed on an ornate brush, comb and mirror that lay on the desk. Seized by impulse, she rose, more carefully this time, and made her way to the desk, the "chantry sister" watching her in mute surprise. She picked up the mirror and peered in it.

She hadn't seen her reflection since . . . well, in a long time. She was shocked at the vision in the mirror. Her face looked pale and sunken and she had dark circles under her eyes. The gash to her temple from the alpha back in the Wilds had healed, leaving a thin scar that interrupted the dark hair of her right eyebrow.

She hardly looked like a noblewoman anymore. She didn't know what she looked like.

Leliana cleared her throat, interrupting her examination. "Those men said you were Grey Wardens. You will be battling the darkspawn, yes? That is what Grey Wardens do?"

She turned to face the woman, still holding the mirror. After a moment she smiled and said, "Pack this too, alright?" She grabbed the brush and comb off the desk. "And these! I didn't have a chance to pack anything like that when I left and Morrigan won't let me borrow hers."

Leliana blinked at her, but took the items from her hands anyway. "I . . . you . . . I was going to ask—"

"To come with us?" Elissa helpfully provided, inordinately pleased with herself for having shaken the unflappable sister's serene demeanor.

"I . . . yes! How did you know?"

Elissa grinned widely. She felt  _so_  much better now that she had some food, and the prospect of having another person along was actually cheering her up. She was sick of listening to Morrigan and Alistair's banter. If she had guessed correctly—and she was confident that she had—Leliana was a person full of mysteries waiting to be uncovered. She gestured at the open pack on the desk. "You're obviously preparing to leave, and I don't think you're just evacuating. You didn't just  _happen_  to be in the tavern with your daggers handy either, did you? You were waiting for us, weren't you?"

Leliana's mouth hung open for a few seconds before she snapped it closed and shook her head, a faint smile gracing her lips. "You're right. I  _do_ want to come along. I know that you will need all the help—"

"Do you have any extra clothes? Bedding that we could take with us?" Elissa's eyes flitted across the small room, searching for anything that might be useful. She'd been wearing the same leather armor since Ostagar, and didn't even have a change of clothes for sleeping in.

Leliana stammered. "I . . . I do have a few things I could bring. I suppose the bedding would just be left here—" At that Elissa started stripping the bed and folding the sheet and blanket, visions of sleeping with an actual  _pillow_  making her feel almost giddy with delight. "But don't you even want to know why?"

Elissa turned to the woman again, giving her yet another once-over as she finished folding the bedding.

"Well," she said, drawing out the word. "You're Orlesian, but if you're spying for Orlais, you're not very good at it, and you'd be better served ingratiating yourself with Loghain in Denerim than hooking up with the last wardens in Ferelden." She didn't miss how Leliana tensed up at the word "spying" and that led her to a whole host of conclusions, but she didn't bother airing them. "To be honest, I don't really care why. Just don't betray me, or I'll make sure you and everyone you care about pays," she added, letting a hint of venom seep into her words.

Leliana, to her credit, wasn't easily intimidated. Or, she had a free conscience. "I would never betray you!" she insisted. "I want to come with you because the Maker told me to."

That actually was a little surprising. Elissa's eyebrows climbed her forehead. "What did you . . . have a vision or something?"

The flush that crept up the woman's cheek confirmed Elissa's guess. "I-I know that sounds . . . absolutely insane—but it's true! I  _did_  have a vision!"

At that, Elissa took another look around the room, piecing together a story of half-formed ideas from her observations. She wondered at the series of events that must have occurred to take this woman from lady-in-waiting, to criminal, to devout chantry sister. Something terrible, no doubt. In any case, Elissa decided she didn't care. Having another person to fight for her was worth it, and she was reasonably sure that Leliana was sincere in her desire to help. She didn't trust the Orlesian spy, but she didn't trust anyone (well, except Alistair, a tiny voice in her mind said).

Her eyes widened with a sudden thought. "Do you know how to cook?"

Leliana blinked. "Yes, I can cook. Does this mean you believe me?" The hope and delight that shone in Leliana's eyes at that was almost hard to take.

Elissa shrugged. "We can use all the help we can get."

* * *

"Perhaps your skull was cracked worse than Mother thought." Morrigan crossed her arms and glared at Elissa. They were standing on the steps of the Chantry.

"We can use all the help we can get," Elissa repeated to the scowling witch, and then turned to Alistair. "She acquitted herself well at the tavern I assume?" She felt her cheeks flush but didn't offer an apology for fainting, preferring instead to act like the embarrassing incident had never happened.

Alistair seemed uncomfortable. "Um, yeah . . . she's fine and all, but are you sure about this?" Elissa wasn't going to tell the others about Leliana's motivations, but the ex-chantry sister had wasted no time in waxing poetic about her duty to the Maker and her vision. He gave a significant look at Morrigan and said, "Aren't we full up on the  _crazy_  in this little party?"

Elissa shrugged. "Beggars can't be choosy." She saw Leliana stir at that, but went on before the sister could interrupt. "Listen, we can use . . ."  _A person who can actually fight_ , she wanted to say, but flicked her eyes at Morrigan and decided against it. "Her," she said instead. "Plus, she knows how to cook." He seemed to concede the point with a shrug of his own so she went on. "I was thinking the four of you could tackle the chantry board jobs while I stay back and see what I can do for work here."

His face turned uneasy, echoing his worry-etched features from earlier when she'd emerged from the chantry. She felt a stab of guilt that he'd been so concerned. "Are you sure about that? Maybe Prince should stay with you . . ."

Elissa shook her head. "No, he'll just get in the way. Take him, and meet me back here when you're done. Hopefully I'll have some coin to spread around by then."

Alistair relented and took the rest of the party north, and Elissa got to work. The village woman named Allison wanted traps, so she set about scavenging what she could for parts around the village, and before long had a half dozen traps ready to deliver to Allison, and a few more advanced traps to keep for her own uses. She used the money from that job to purchase flasks, and then set about making potions for Elder Miriam, who she saw used them all wrong, so Elissa had been forced to stay and help the old woman treat the various ailments and injuries the refugees complained about.

The sun hung low in the west by the time Morrigan and Prince returned to summon her to the camp they'd made north of town. Elissa looked at her in surprise when she appeared. "They sent you back to collect the reward?"

"Alistair and Leliana are preparing dinner. 'twas too tempting to pass up a chance to get away from their nattering conversation." She turned a scornful gaze to Elissa. "What I did to deserve traveling with a templar, a chantry sister and  _you_  I have no idea."

Elissa rolled her eyes but said nothing. She collected her things and wished the elder a good night before following Morrigan and Prince outside of the village. Apparently, Morrigan's ire needed an outlet, however, for ignoring her did no good.

"So tell me, Elissa, what kind of warden are you that you hide from battle whenever it's upon us? I thought the Grey Wardens were fabled warriors of legend and yet you seem . . . ill-suited to this task."

Elissa took a deep breath. She'd had all day to prepare for this, so she had a ready answer. "I don't hide from battle. It's just my talents are more tactical than combat-oriented," she said breezily, and gestured to her bag. "I specialize in traps, potions, poisons . . . that sort of thing." She peeked at the witch out of the corner of her eye to see if she was buying it. Her expression was inscrutable, as always.  _Maker_ , Morrigan was hard to read. "I needed supplies," she ended simply.

The witch made a little noise, but Elissa had no idea what it meant, and resolved to simply ignore her.

The camp was in a perfect location, she discovered when they arrived. Alistair and Leliana had a roaring campfire going on the banks of a wide, gentle river that sloped under an outcropping of rock. They'd already set up some stumps for seats, and whatever was cooking in the pot by the fire smelled delicious. The two didn't even raise their heads from their work until Elissa and Morrigan were practically upon them, so involved with their cheery conversation were they.

"So you were raised by Arl Eamon?" she heard Leliana ask Alistair after dinner.

"Where did you hear that?" Alistair said in that joking tone he seemed to say  _everything_  in. "No, no, no. I was raised by  _dogs_  you know—giant, slobbering dogs from the Anderfels."

Leliana laughed, full-throated with genuine amusement. "Oh Alistair! You're so funny."

The tinkle of Leliana's laughter brought with it an odd, uncomfortable feeling Elissa found all too familiar.

She wasn't jealous. She barely knew Alistair, and wasn't even sure she liked him now that he'd deemed her a figure of abject amusement. But, witnessing the easy rapport between the pretty chantry sister and the amiable templar brought up memories of isolation, of being left out.

_Let me guess, this is the part where we're surprised to discover you've never had a friend your entire life._

Alistair's words from earlier that day rang in her ears. She shook her head and tried to ignore the two chatterboxes, spreading a blanket out before her and putting her crossbow on it. She had work to do, so she should be grateful that Alistair was occupied and entertained. He'd leave her alone then. That was good.

She overheard much as she worked. Alistair talked about his heartbreak at being sent to the chantry, and how he'd behaved toward the arl when he left, smashing an amulet from his mother in his childish anger. And then when he was done, Leliana went on about her own sad childhood, sighing about a mother she barely remembered.

It all left Elissa feeling oddly unsettled, hearing these bits and pieces of their conversation. The facts, she knew—she had already figured out on her own that Isolde must've been the cause of Alistair's banishment to the chantry (she knew when the Arl was married and did the math) but she hadn't realized how it had affected him, nor had she realized how much he hated life in the chantry. It made her wonder if her knowing everything without being told was actually a kind of disadvantage when it came to making friends . . .

She put the thoughts out of her mind with a rough shake of her head, gathering up her things and preparing for bed. Friends weren't the priority now, she knew, and it was senseless to ponder such things.

She didn't notice that she'd settled down almost as far from the main camp as Morrigan had. It took her a long time to fall asleep; Leliana and Alistair seemed to stay up half the night chatting. When Elissa finally slept she dreamt of closed doors and hushed conversations, before the darkspawn dreams jolted her awake. The gentle waves of the lazy river flowing beside the campground made the only sound, and it took her a long time to fall back asleep.


	14. Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair explains the reasons for Elissa's nightmares.

_Cause I like to keep my issues drawn  
_ _It's always darkest before the dawn  
_ — _Shake It Out,_ Florence and the Machine __  


Alistair felt like camp was getting downright crowded.

In addition to Leliana, they'd also managed to acquire a dwarven merchant and his sweet but dimwitted son. They'd rescued the pair from a darkspawn attack, and ever since then the dwarves had tagged along, making camp with them each evening. Elissa had also seen fit to somehow convince the Revered Mother in Lothering's Chantry to let the caged qunari into her custody. Why she'd done such a thing, Alistair had no clue.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" he had asked. "How do you know he won't kill us all in our sleep?"

Elissa had given him one of her patented  _you're-being-a-complete-moron-Alistair_  looks, and said, "He won't. He wants to atone for his crimes."

"Sure, that's what he  _says_ ," Alistair had pointed out. "But did you ever think maybe he'd tell you anything to get out of his cage?"

Again, the face she'd worn had been priceless, but he hadn't had a chance to laugh.

"He hasn't told me anything," Elissa said. "I haven't spoken with him yet."

"Then how do you know—" he had started to say, but then thought better of it, shaking his head and lifting his hands up in defeat. "You know what? Never mind. I'm sure it's just perfectly  _obvious_ , and I'm just too slow to catch it." He had tried to mimic her exasperated tone whenever she told him something was "obvious" and thought that he came pretty close to it, but she hadn't found it funny.

Alistair frowned into the campfire. Elissa hadn't found anything he said funny lately. She'd been rather short with him ever since they came to Lothering, offering him nothing but glares and scowls when he'd tried joking around with her. He wondered why.

Before he could get too far into his ruminations, a soft whimper brought his attention back to what he was supposed to be doing. He was on watch for the night—the middle (and worst) shift. When he'd informed Elissa of the need to set up a watch each night she had devised a schedule of three shifts, with each person taking a turn at the first, middle, and last watch before having two nights off. It was a smart schedule, giving everyone a couple of nights of full sleep before being forced to watch again. Tonight was the first night they'd implemented it, and Alistair had drawn the short straw for the middle watch.

A rustling accompanied another whimper, and Alistair craned his neck to try and see into the darkness beyond the campfire. The dwarves slept in their merchant cart, but everyone else was still stuck sleeping under the stars, as there were no tents to spare in the village. He was pretty sure the whimpering was coming from Elissa's bedroll.

 _She's having a darkspawn nightmare._  He frowned again, turning back to stare at the fire, feeling unsure what to do. He knew he  _should_  wake her—there had been an unspoken agreement among the wardens to rescue one another from the middle of a bad dream if you noticed it going on. But he worried at her reaction, since she'd been so unfriendly to him of late, and for all he knew she wasn't even having a nightmare, but some other type of dream that caused soft whimpering. He blushed a little at the thought and then a stifled cry brought him back to reality.

He stood finally, and walked the few paces beyond the ring of firelight to where he thought Elissa was sleeping, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dark. Once they did, he saw her jerk in her sleep, another choked cry escaping her throat. Her head turned back and forth, as if she was trying to avoid seeing some horrid sight, and another whimper and gasp after that convinced him that this was no pleasant dream he was disturbing.

Her thrashing grew worse as he knelt beside her. Placing his hands on her shoulders he gently shook her and whispered, "Elissa."

She jerked under his hands but didn't wake, instead giving a little strangled sob. "Elissa," he said again, a little louder, and accompanied it with a harder shake of her shoulders.

She gasped and woke, clutching at his arms with a vice grip. She stared up at him with those big green eyes of hers that had gone wide with fear.

"It's alright," he said gently, giving her shoulders a reassuring squeeze. "You were having a bad dream." He could see by the terror in her eyes that the Fade still hadn't really released her, and she kept hold of his arms. "You're safe now," he added.

Comprehension finally seemed to dawn on her face and she gave him a shaky nod, but she didn't release him from her grip, and he still had his hands on her shoulders. "Er . . . come sit by the fire a minute? You probably don't want to go back to sleep right away . . ." he said, releasing her.

She stared at him for a long moment before nodding again and letting go of him. He offered her his hand to help her rise, and she took it and rose.

She was wearing the nightgown Leliana had lent her, he noticed, as he led her back to the campfire. It was a prim, modest garment, with long sleeves and a high neck, and it billowed out around her in the gentle night breeze. Her golden hair was unbound for once, streaming down her back. She held onto his hand until she was seated next to him on the ground by the fire.

She hugged her knees to her chest. "It seemed . . . so real," she said in a breathless whisper, staring at the fire as if comforted by the sight of the flames.

He shifted a little to look down at her. She'd sat herself quite close to him, he realized. "Well it is real, sort of," he said in quiet voice. "You see, part of being a Grey Warden is being able to hear the darkspawn. That's what your dream was. Hearing them. The archdemon, it . . .'talks' to the horde, and we feel it just as they do. That's why we know this is really a Blight."

"The archdemon," she said with a shudder. "The dragon . . ."

He waited, but she fell silent. "I don't know if it's really a dragon," he said after a beat, "but it sure looks like one. But yes, that's the archdemon."

"I used to look forward to sleeping . . ." her voice trailed off.

Alistair swallowed the lump in his throat. "It takes a bit, but eventually you can block the dreams out. Some of the older Grey Wardens say they can understand the archdemon a bit, but I sure can't." She'd gone very still, and when he turned to her he saw that she still stared intently into the fire. "Anyway, I heard you thrashing around and thought I should wake you." He gave a little shrug. "It was scary for me at first, too."

At that she turned to him, a guarded expression on her face. Then, she lowered her gaze, and he couldn't help but admire the way her long eyelashes fluttered on her cheek. "Really?" she said in quiet voice, and Alistair was startled to hear the note of disbelief in it.

He gave a little laugh. "I screamed like a little girl. Duncan said he thought I had someone in my room. Not embarrassing at all."

Her eyes grew wide at that, and she gave him an uncertain look, the ghost of a smile creeping over her lips. But then she seemed to remember that she wasn't laughing at his jokes anymore, because she frowned and turned back to face the fire.

He stifled a sigh and they sat there in silence for some time, while he racked his brain for something to say, before Elissa spoke up again. "Can we talk about something other than the wardens?" she asked, not meeting his eye.

"Uh, sure. What did you want to talk about?"

She reached down to play with a piece of grass for a few seconds before fixing him with a piercing expression. "If you hate the Chantry so much, why do you remain a Templar?"

The question surprised him, considering he didn't remember saying two words to Elissa about his life in the Chantry or what he thought about it. He almost said as much but stopped himself, realizing that she probably had overheard him discussing his past with Leliana. Or she just figured it all out on her own, with that big brain of hers. Still, he felt reluctant to talk about it, and he'd made a sort of petty vow with himself not to answer anymore of her probing questions without a fight. "Have you seen the uniform?" he joked. "It's not only stylish, but well-made. I'm a  _sucker_ for good tailoring."

Of course, she didn't get it. "I thought Templars wore heavy plate?" she asked, eyes all wide.

He almost barked out a laugh at that, but managed to keep his face composed—barely. "That's just in public." He lowered his voice and leaned over. "In private we have these yellow and purple tunics, right? Much more comfortable, and you don't break the beds when you jump on them during a pillow fight."

The look she gave him then was utterly priceless—so confused and unsure—and he couldn't help bursting into a laugh.

Her face darkened and she turned away abruptly. "Fine," she said heatedly and started to rise. " _Don't_  tell me then. I don't care."

His laughter gave way to an exasperated sigh. "Elissa," he said, reaching out to stop her. "Come on, don't be like that. I was only kidding."

She paused in her ascent, gaze dropping down to glare at the hand on her arm before jerking free of his grasp. She sat back down in a huff, though. "Why?" she snapped at him. "Why do you do that when you know—" She cut herself off, unwilling to finish the thought or meet his gaze again.

"What? When I know you won't get it? I'm sorry, but I'd just as soon quit breathing as quit joking." He gave her an incredulous expression. "You're not really upset are you? It's not that big of a deal is it?"

The firelight was dim, but he could have sworn she was blushing. She still didn't meet his eye, either. "I just don't like to be laughed at," she said in a quiet voice.

He must have imagined the hurt tone in it. She couldn't really be this upset about his laughing, could she? Suddenly he felt like an enormous heel, realizing that her angry glares had only started after that night in the Wilds when he'd been unable to stop his raucous laughter. "It's . . . it's just funny that the perfect Elissa Cousland doesn't get sarcasm."

She stilled, and finally met his gaze out the corner of her eye. "Perfect?"

That . . . wasn't what he'd meant to say. But, the words did seem to have a soothing effect on her. "Well, you know," he went on in a rush, encouraged by her shift in mood. "You're brilliant, of course, and you know  _everything_ , and you're resourceful and beautiful . . ." At  _beautiful_  her gaze flitted to his before lowering again. Dim light or no, he could tell she was blushing now. He felt his heart give a little leap, and wondered what the hell he was doing, attempting to flirt with  _Elissa_. But, the scowl was gone from her face . . . "It's just funny that you have this one little weakness, I guess. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings," he said sincerely.

She touched her face, fingers at the little scar on her eyebrow. "I am hardly perfect," she muttered. "And I have much more than one weakness." She removed her hand from her face and stared at him then, and he had no clue what emotion lurked in the depths of those emerald eyes of hers.

He grasped at the first thread of a thought. "Surely I'm not the first to tease you about this?"

She gave a halfhearted shrug. "Most . . . wouldn't dare," she said simply, looking down at her hands again.

His mouth fell open at that, the reminder bringing him up short. It was easy to forget so much about her, given the braininess and short temper, and everything else. But she was the daughter of a teyrn, and that . . . actually explained a lot. "Really?" was the only response he could muster, however.

She met his glance then again; her look was shy and guarded. "Well," she said, pursing her lips and staring at her fingers, where she'd twined a glade of grass between them. "My brother was the only one who could get away with it," she said with a rueful smile.

At that, he felt his lips start to twitch into a smile, imagining what it would be like to have a little sister like Elissa. The thought filled him with an unexpectedly painful longing. "Yeah?" he asked, nonetheless trying to encourage her to continue. That sentence was the most she'd ever told him about her life before the wardens. When she didn't say anything he gently but playfully leaned into her with his shoulder and bent his head to try to catch her eye. "Completely undeserved, I take it?"

It was only then that he recognized the significance of the words she used. Her brother  _was_  the only one allowed to tease her. He tried to see her face, but she'd bent her head and her hair fell forward, forming a golden curtain that made his hand twitch with the need to brush it aside . . .

_That would be really stupid._

She would probably smack him. He gulped, and tried to think of something to say. "I'll stop," he said softly.

She looked up at that, seemingly shocked at his serious tone. She frowned then, but it wasn't at him. "No," she said, before bending her head again and letting her hair hide her face. "Don't do that."

She sounded so sad, and he felt so stupid, sitting there and not knowing what to say to her. Neither of them had talked about their losses directly. He hadn't felt much like talking about Duncan, and he assumed she felt the same about her situation. With a pang of guilt he realized that he wasn't even sure who all she'd lost. A mother and a father, he knew about, but did she have anyone else? A sister or . . . someone she cared about?

"You know," he said after the silence had stretched on too long. "If you ever want to talk about . . . anything, I . . ." he struggled to come up with the words to convey that he was there for her, without presupposing an intimacy that would offend her. "I'm here," he finally settled on.

He faced forward as he spoke, only sparing a quick glance out of the corner of his eye at her. For her part she remained deathly still, and he felt a rising panic that he'd overstepped his bounds, and that her next words would surely be a scathing chastisement.

He was wrong. Finally she brushed her hair aside with her hand, tucking it behind her ear and turning to face him. Meeting her gaze felt like a feat of courage, but he did it and saw that her eyes were clear. "I want you to answer my question," she said, and he blinked curiously at the challenging tone he heard in her voice. There was a touch of a plea in it too, though, as well as in her eyes.

He wanted to comply but his mind went blank. "What question?" She rolled her eyes good-naturedly, and the simple gesture melted away some of the tension between them. In an instant he remembered. "Oh." He gave a sigh that turned into a groan. "You don't really want to know about my being a templar, do you? It's really quite boring."

She shrugged. "Perhaps it'll help me get back to sleep then," she offered, lips twitching into a hint of a smile.

He couldn't help cracking one of his own. "Right, happy to be of service then. I guess there's no harm in obliging." He elbowed her gently. "I have a couple of interesting-looking moles I can show you later, too, if you're interested." He didn't look at her reaction to that, not trusting himself not to laugh if she took him seriously, and unwilling to risk their unsteady truce just yet. "The truth of the matter is that I did hate going to the monastery . . ."

Once he started talking about it, he found he didn't really mind. He'd already told Leliana much of it, though he realized that he'd probably kept the worst of it from the pretty Chantry sister, not wanting to come off as a whiny brooder to someone he'd just met. He felt no such compunction with Elissa, though whether it was because he figured she'd ferret out the truth anyway, or if it was because she'd already seen the worst of him and . . . well, she was scowling at him less so there was that.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been talking when he inadvertently brought up the Grey Wardens, briefly forgetting that she'd wanted to avoid the topic. "What about you?" he asked, trying to change the subject. "Do you have anywhere you consider home?"

He waited a few seconds, but she didn't answer, and he finally realized what an enormous idiot he'd been, asking her that question after she'd just lost it all. He turned to apologize but saw immediately that she hadn't heard the question at all.

He chuckled softly to himself in relief. He was right. His templar stories  _were_  boring—so boring they'd fulfilled Elissa's wish and put her to sleep. She looked serene, sleeping with her head resting on her knees in a position that Alistair was sure would leave her aching and sore in the morning. He was loath to wake her, given how peaceful she appeared, but in the end he figured it'd be more merciful to send her back to her bedroll than let her remain in that position.

Very gently, he put a hand on her shoulder. "Elissa, wake up."

She stirred at his touch, and his eyes were drawn to her lips that parted slightly. Her eyelids fluttered and he quickly turned his head to face the fire, but the next thing he knew she shifted, still sleeping, to rest her head on the meat of his shoulder.

He froze.

She was back to sleep in seconds, and he felt his heartbeat quicken as he glanced down to at the blonde head of his fellow warden where it rested against him.

He was going to just shrug his shoulder and wake her up . . . he was  _going_  to, but he found that he simply couldn't. Having a pretty girl fall asleep on his shoulder was a singular experience that he'd, until now, not had the pleasure of having.

So he sat there, debating with himself until his shift was over, and Morrigan came to relieve him, giving the two wardens a disgusted sneer when she did. He sent her a murderous look in return and she had the good sense not to wake Elissa, turning on her heel to serve her period at watch as far away from him as she could.

That was . . . just lovely, in fact. He settled himself a little more comfortably against the log at his back, and then tucked his chin to his chest and tried to sleep, not feeling particularly optimistic at his chances. His arm was asleep and he ached to move it, but visions of the dark circles under Elissa's eyes strengthened his resolve not to wake her.

The warmth of Elissa's body against him and her steady breathing must've lulled him into sleep, however, because the next thing he knew he was blinking awake to a bright morning sun and Elissa was stirring next to him.

She sat up all of a sudden and looked at him in shock. "Did I fall asleep on you? Why didn't you wake me?"

He blinked at her blearily, still trying to get his bearings. "I . . ."

Before he could finish she blurted out in horror, "Did you fall asleep on  _watch_?"

"No!" he answered quickly. She gave him an odd look at that, and he felt strangely guilty, as if he'd done something terribly improper by letting her sleep on his shoulder. "You just . . . I didn't want to wake you. You've looked so tired lately . . ."

It was the wrong thing to say, he knew, when she raised her hand to her face and turned away.  _Yes, every woman wants to hear that they look tired. Great job, Alistair._  Before he could come up with something better she shook off whatever she was feeling and turned back to him, an expectant look on her face. "Well," she said, looking him up and down. "Everyone else is still asleep. Now's as good a time as any to examine those moles of yours."

He had still been reclining on the log, but he sat up suddenly at her words, sure his face was turning crimson. His mouth gaped open. "No, that was . . . I don't . . ." He hadn't thought even  _Elissa_  could take that statement seriously. He finally caught her expression—she was biting her bottom lip in an obvious attempt to keep from laughing, and her eyes were twinkling with amusement. Relieved, he gave her a reproachful look. "Very funny," he said drily.

At that she burst into a cackle of laughter, high and loud as he rolled his eyes at her. Just then Leliana walked up behind them.

"What's so funny?" She looked first at Elissa and then back to Alistair, an expression of befuddled amusement on her face.

"Nothing," he said, mock glaring at his fellow warden. A smile was threatening to form on his lips, though. "Just a . . . private joke between wardens."

Leliana raised her eyebrows and smiled prettily. "I didn't think she did that," she said in a stage whisper to Alistair, clearly amused at the uncharacteristically giddy Elissa.

"Yeah well, you know Elissa," he said sardonically. "She's a quick learner." The woman in question cackled even more loudly at that, clutching her stomach and throwing her head back. Though it was nice to hear her laugh, he felt some need to recover his dignity. "Oh come on, Elissa, it wasn't  _that_  funny."

She stopped to regard him, mid-cackle and seemed to consider his statement seriously a moment, before shaking her head and fixing him with an earnest expression. "No, I'm pretty sure it's quite funny," she said with a wide, completely sincere grin.

And that was it for him. He joined her in her infectious laughter that just stretched on and grew the more puzzled Leliana looked at them.

Drawing the short straw hadn't been so bad after all, he thought as he finally shook off his laughter some minutes later and helped his fellow, still-giggling warden rise to her feet. She gave him one last look, before retreating with Leliana to get dressed, and he was pretty sure the look was full of gratitude, and empty of any irritation at all, for once.

It was a pretty great way to start the day, to tell the truth.


	15. Purpose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leliana decides to try a little harder to be friendly to Elissa.

_When we die  
_ _We will die with our arms unbound  
_ _And this is why  
_ _This is why we fight  
_ — _This is Why We Fight_ , The Decemberists __  


Any other time and the meadow would have been an idyllic spot. Leliana could almost see the family that might've gathered here for a midday picnic. She could imagine the children frolicking in the soft green grass as their parents reclined on a colorful blanket in the shade, laughing at the antics of their progeny. She could also see the meadow in the evening when it would be bathed in the golden light of a setting sun—perhaps serving as the perfect romantic location for a pair of secret lovers.

Any other time and this meadow could have been something close to paradise, but today instead of the sounds of children playing or lovers sighing, the meadow was filled with the sounds of death. The meadow was filled with darkspawn and the taint they carried was already turning the verdant green grass to brown and black.

Leliana lashed out at the genlock in front of her, for the hypothetical family and the lovers both, and exulted in the feel of the darkspawn's flesh giving way to her blades. She wanted to laugh, but sung instead, a tune high and clear and uplifting—at least she hoped—to both Sten and Alistair who turned threats into corpses at their feet.

She danced among the enemy, flanking them where she could to deliver a killing—or at least incapacitating—backstab. She gave Sten with his great sword a wide berth, choosing instead to stick closer to Alistair, sliding into place behind his enemies when she could, and then diving back behind him and his borrowed shield when she caught too much of the enemy's attention.

It was thrilling, and when it was over she was left panting.

"Having fun?"

She must've been smiling too widely, because Alistair's brow crinkled slightly when she looked up at him, in that way it tended to when she started talking about her vision or her idea of the Maker.

 _The darkspawn are vile,_  she told herself, not for the first time.  _Of course I enjoy killing them._ It didn't mean anything.

Schooling her face into something more serene, she gave Alistair a slight nod. "Let's go check on the others."

They made their way to where Elissa had fallen back to guard the civilian merchant and his son. The wagon was just on the edge of the clearing, having stopped there when Alistair gave the signal that darkspawn were ahead.

Leliana stepped over a steaming corpse of a genlock . . . or several genlocks—it was too hard to tell, frozen and shattered as the pieces were. She raised an eyebrow, impressed. There were quite a few more darkspawn bodies littered around the small wagon. Elissa was bent over a trap, trying to salvage what she could of its parts, Leliana assumed. Prince sat on the ground beside her while Morrigan rifled through the scattered corpses.

"Hey ho!" Bodahn called, emerging from the tarp where he and his son had hidden during the battle. "We're all safe here! Thanks to you and your friends."

Alistair gave a low whistle. "Here I thought we were having all the fun up there," he said with a cheery grin.

Elissa's head shot up. "There's nothing fun about this," she said, no trace of humor in her voice, and once again Leliana wanted to swat Alistair across the back of the head for riling her with his jokes. Why he insisted when he knew she never got them was a mystery to Leliana.

Morrigan snorted indecorously. "Unhappy because you almost had to get your hands dirty?"

Instead of glaring at the witch, Elissa seemed to shrug into herself, hunching over her trap and ignoring Morrigan's jibes. Alistair instantly turned worried. "Are you alright?" he said stepping toward her. "Did you get injured?"

Elissa blushed under his sudden concern. They could be kind of sweet together, Leliana often thought, when they weren't at each other's throats. The warden shook her head. "I'm fine . . .  _this_  time," she said lowly.

Alistair knelt next to her so that they were at equal eye level. "Elissa . . ."

"It's not working anymore." She looked at Alistair helplessly. "The darkspawn . . . they can sense me now. They were drawn back here . . ."

"A dividing tactic. I thought this was the plan," Sten's voice rumbled from behind Leliana. She turned to see the giant staring down at the warden, his face an impenetrable mask as always.

Elissa must've seen some rebuke in it, however, for her cheeks colored and her gaze flicked around to her companions. "I just don't want to unnecessarily endanger the civilians . . ." she said, before shooting Alistair a significant look.

Alistair gave a shrug. "You'll just have to fight up front with us." It was his turn to shoot a look leaden with things unsaid at the other warden. "Just like I've been saying you should."

Leliana stifled the sigh that threatened to escape her. She could see that the wardens were on the verge of having yet another one of their disagreements. She didn't wonder at the tension—she knew the source of it. Elissa was trying to stay as far away from the enemy as she could, whereas Alistair thought he could better protect her if she stuck up close to the front, with him. It was an argument they'd had several times already. "Dividing the darkspawn up does appear to be an effective strategy," Leliana said after a moment, some impulse driving her to intervene for once.

Alistair gave a sigh of exasperation, but before he could restate his case yet again Elissa cleared her throat. "I'm far more effective at range," she said stiffly, not meeting anyone's gaze. "I just . . . it helps to have the time to set a trap or two."

"Exactly!" Leliana said, as if she had been agreeing with Elissa all along. She sheathed her daggers and stepped closer to her. "Which is why I'll stay back with you and fight from range as well," she said with a bright smile, before giving a self-effacing little shake of the head. "I'm  _far_  better with a longbow than I am with blades anyway," she said confidentially to Elissa.

Elissa rose to her feet. "You fight with a bow, too?" The look the young warden leveled at her at her was more annoyed than grateful.

Leliana's smile faltered for a fraction of a second before she recovered. "But of course! To be truthful, the bow is my preferred weapon."

Elissa seemed to consider the information a moment before giving a slow nod of her head. "Yes," she said at last, looking as if it cost her something dear to admit it. "That will work."

It was some time before they were able to set off again, as the wardens insisted that all the bodies of the darkspawn be incinerated, lest they risk contaminating the very earth with their taint. As they were leaving Leliana gave the meadow one last glance over her shoulder . . .the once pastoral patch of land was now marred by great tracts of burnt out grass, the smoking bones of the darkspawn all that was left of the tainted monsters who'd infected the place.

She sighed and turned back to face the road they traveled. The battle had only strengthened her resolve. She was doing the right thing—serving the Maker's will by protecting countless families (and lovers) by eradicating the Blight.

She stole a glance at the warden to her right. Elissa walked beside her in silence, her gaze seeming to fix on some point ahead of them, but Leliana suspected she wasn't really  _seeing_  anything. She had that far-off look she got at times, probably deep in contemplation of some mystery or other.

Leliana smiled to herself and resolved to walk a little farther in silence, not willing to risk her ire. The warden did not like to be interrupted when she was thinking.

Elissa didn't seem to like a lot of things, from what Leliana could tell. She didn't like small talk, for instance. After apparently being asked one too many times, Elissa had finally snapped at Leliana that she was  _fine_ , thank you very much, and that she would inform the bard at once if her status changed.

She gave a little sigh at the memory. Of all the warden's companions, she alone seemed immune to Elissa's curiosity. Perhaps Elissa felt she already knew all she needed to about Leliana. The thought caused her to frown at her toes. She hoped she hadn't already been judged and deemed beneath notice.

Of course, hadn't she done the same to Elissa? Alistair's attitude toward his fellow warden seemed to vacillate between amused annoyance and something like fondness, but he insisted to Leliana that in spite of her prickliness, Elissa really was kind of sweet underneath it all. So far Leliana had failed to see much beyond a spoiled, arrogant, too-smart noble.

She knew that wasn't the full story, and she hadn't tried all  _that_  hard to get Elissa to like her, Leliana had to admit to herself. She supposed it had been an act of self-preservation—she hadn't wanted to face the truth of it if Elissa judged her harshly for her past. Sure, the fact that the girl had accepted an admitted murderer and an apostate into the group ought to mean she'd had no problems with her past, but in Leliana's experience people tended to judge religious folk more harshly for their crimes.

_No one likes a hypocrite._

Having admitted her failing to herself, Leliana spared another glance for her silent companion, resolving in that instant to win over the second warden, come what may. She was startled to find the girl already staring back at her.

"Something on your mind, Leliana?"

Leliana swallowed the irritation that rose up in her at the hint of smugness in Elissa's smile. She smiled brightly, determined not to give her the satisfaction of rankling her on this beautiful, now darkspawn-free day. "Yes, actually. I was hoping we could talk."

"What did you want to talk about?" Elissa's gaze strayed forward again, and she kept her tone impossibly even and unreadable.

Leliana pressed on, undeterred. "I wanted to talk to you about what we spoke of at our first meeting. About certain . . .  _assertions_ , that you made."

Elissa gave an irritated sigh. "You're not going to bother denying it, are you?"

Leliana kept her face a smooth mask. "No, but of course not. That would be stupid." She stopped walking and pulled Elissa aside so they could talk as the wagon rumbled by them. Elissa scowled up at her, and too late she remembered how affronted Elissa could be about unwanted touching. "Sorry," she breathed out quickly. "But I thought it important that we speak privately. I want you to know that in spite of my past . . . that's not who I am anymore. I gave up that life when I joined the Chantry."

Elissa held up a hand. "Stop. Please. This is  _completely_  unnecessary. I don't care about your past."

She bit her lips to keep from stammering, blinking several seconds at Elissa's expression that was growing more bored by the second. She shook her head. "I don't understand—"

" _Honestly_ , Leliana," Elissa intoned lowly. "We've got a man who murdered an entire family and an apostate who's been hunting templars since she got her first moon's blood." Leliana's eyes grew wide at that little detail of the swamp witch's life. She knew Elissa and the witch often spoke, but the most notable thing about those conversations were the explosive ways they tended to end, with Morrigan threatening to light Elissa's hair on fire if she had to listen to one more impertinent request. . .

She shook her head again, trying to understand. "So . . . you don't care about what I did? About who I was?"

Elissa looked her in the eye. "No," she said simply. "You're here because of your skills and what you can do. I have too much to do in too little time to worry about the souls of my companions I'm afraid."

Leliana stared at the girl in front of her, sure that she wasn't inventing a conflict where there'd been none. "Then why this resentment?" she asked softly.

Elissa's gaze snapped back to hers and her eyes widened. "Resentment? What do you mean?"

Leliana lowered her head to level a glare at the other girl. "Elissa . . . this is the most we've spoken since that day at the Chantry."

Elissa's brow furrowed and her mouth fell open as she stared back at Leliana, clearly surprised. She watched as Elissa appeared to contemplate Leliana's comment, before blushing and looking at her feet. "Oh," she said after a moment. "I . . . you're right. It's not that, though. I suppose the truth is, I was . . . am . . . a little . . . envious of you."

Leliana couldn't help her jaw falling open at the other woman's confession. She'd given the idea passing thought, but she would have never predicted that Elissa would  _admit_  so much to her. "Oh. Elissa you needn't . . . Alistair and I are just friends."

Elissa's face turned to stark confusion for the span of several heartbeats, before comprehension dawned and a look of horror descended instead. "No! I don't mean that . . . I simply couldn't . . . not after . . ." Her face twisted into an expression of intense grief and she turned away.

Leliana's heart ached at the unexpected and sudden display of sadness. Her mouth went dry, and she felt foolish for having suggested such a thing. Alistair had intimated that Elissa had come to the wardens as a result of some vague tragedy, but she hadn't realized . . . "I'm sorry," she murmured and stepped closer, daring to put a hand on the other woman's elbow.

Elissa nodded briskly to herself, as if to shake off her intense reaction. "I said  _envious_ , not  _jealous_ ," she corrected, not meeting the other woman's gaze."If I were interested in Alistair I'd be jealous of you, not envious of you."

Leliana let go of her arm. "Alright, why are you  _envious_  of me?" she asked, straining to keep her voice light.

Elissa flicked her gaze to hers and then looked away. "I guess when we met, I thought you'd be more like . . . me." She returned her gaze to Leliana and said in all sincerity, "you know,  _normal_."

She felt her eyebrows climb her forehead, as if by their own will. "Normal?" she asked, pleased that she was able to keep the amusement out of her tone.

Elissa rolled her eyes. She did that when she felt she was giving an unnecessary explanation, Leliana realized.

"You  _know._ " Leliana continued to look at her bemusedly so she went on. "Morrigan's a powerful apostate and the daughter of a legend. She can turn into a  _giant spider_ , and who knows what else she's capable of. I'd be terrified to sleep at night if we didn't have Alistair with us." Elissa gestured in the direction the rest of the caravan that was slowly moving away from them. "Oh yes, Alistair—an amazing warrior with templar abilities to boot. Not to mention Sten." She turned back to Leliana with a look of pure wonder. "Do you know that man survived more than twenty days without food or water?" She didn't give Leliana time to respond. "Amazing! That's just . . . it boggles the mind. And then there's you . . ." She trailed off and looked away.

"What about me?"

Elissa sighed and turned back to face her. "I'm sorry. I just . . . I wasn't expecting you to be so good at fighting. It's weak, and petty, and small and utterly  _stupid_  of me to care, but there it is." She looked at her feet and mumbled. "I can't believe how you fight with two blades. I'd probably cut off my hand if I tried something like that."

Twice in as many conversations Elissa had left Leliana speechless. Had it been any other noblewoman Leliana would have deemed it all a manipulative stunt to win over Leliana's affections, but Elissa was so bloody  _earnest_  when she spoke, Leliana could only conclude that she was sincere in her . . . surprisingly flattering confession.

"And now it turns out you can shoot as well," Elissa snorted out, turning to resume walking. "Come on, we're falling behind—"

Inspiration bubbled up inside her like a fountain. "I could teach you."

Elissa stopped and stared back at her. "What?"

Leliana felt breathless as the possibilities opened up before her. "I could teach you!" she repeated enthusiastically, bounding up two steps to stand in front of Elissa. She took hold of the other girl by the arms. "I'll show you how to fight with two blades—we can train together. It'll be fun!"

Elissa bit her lip and looked up at Leliana under a furrowed brow, clearly contemplating Leliana's offer, but something seemed to be holding her back. "I . . . couldn't impose—"

Leliana let go of her and waved her arm dismissively. "Nonsense! It'll be fun. We'll find a spot away from camp each night—with no one around to distract us, of course." She started walking, pulling the warden along with her, but not before noticing out of the corner of her eye that Elissa seemed to be looking more receptive. "I'll teach you some basics." She leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, "I'll make a rogue out of you, you'll see!"

Elissa dug her heels into the ground and pulled them both to a stop. "You would really do this?"

"Of course I would. I would do anything to stop the Blight. Wouldn't you?"

She didn't think she was imagining how glassy Elissa's eyes got at that. "Thank you," she said thickly, gripping Leliana's hand in hers tightly for a few seconds, before letting go and straightening her posture. "That is . . . a  _most_  practical and logical suggestion," she finished, far more formally than she'd been a moment before. She offered Leliana a little smile before turning and hurrying after the wagon.

Leliana smiled to herself as she raced to keep up, feeling her heart swell with the surety of her purpose.

* * *

They began Elissa's training that very night, stealing away from the others with the pretense of a scouting trip of the surrounding area. Leliana found a quiet clearing not unlike the site of their darkspawn battle from earlier that day.

"Do you really think I can learn this?" Elissa asked, holding the wooden swords awkwardly in her hands. They'd lucked out that Bodahn had any practice equipment at all. Leliana would have preferred to use daggers, but she supposed at this early stage any training at all was more helpful than none.

"Absolutely you can," she answered, and meant it. "All this fighting style requires is quickness and cleverness, and who is as quick and clever as you?"

Elissa rolled her eyes but still snorted a laugh. Leliana was pleased to see the compliment hit the mark.

"But before we begin with those, I want to show you some other tricks." She ran Elissa through some basic dirty fighting tactics. "Forget about fighting honorably," Leliana told her. "There's no honor in the heat of the battle, just your life or your opponent's. You must not be squeamish or hesitant when your life is on the line." She gestured with each word. "Groin. Neck. A knee, an eye—look for vulnerable places where you can strike to disable, if not kill."

Elissa nodded, flexing her fingers oddly at Leliana's instruction. She suddenly looked up in consternation. "Hair," she said simply, but Leliana immediately understood the look of distress that accompanied a seemingly innocuous word when Elissa gripped the end of her braid and looked down at it. "I should cut mine," she said, her face crumpling in misery.

Leliana pursed her lips. "Perhaps such a sacrifice is not necessary."

The look Elissa gave her was wary but hopeful. "It'd be the most practical solution," she began, but trailed off, unwilling to finish arguing for something she so clearly didn't want to do.

Leliana shook her head and stepped forward, taking the woman's braid in her hands. She held it up and then looked at Elissa, cocking her head to the side. "Or you could let me do your hair. I used to be a lady-in-waiting you know. I'm well versed in all manner of hairstyles. I could braid your hair around your head like a crown."

Elissa looked back at her doubtfully. "No, I simply couldn't allow you to do that . . ."

Leliana leaned in. "Oh, but I insist! Your hair is  _beautiful_ , so golden and shiny . . .it's been an age since I've been able to do a woman's hair as lovely as yours."

"Well," Elissa said, blushing slightly at Leliana's effusive praise. "If you insist . . . "

Later, by the campfire, she held up her gilded mirror for Elissa to admire her handiwork.

Elissa's eyes widened at the elaborate braided style Leliana had expertly woven her hair into. She burst into a lovely and genuine smile, before turning to Leliana with a look of pure gratitude.

Before she gushed her thanks, however, she seemed to catch herself in the moment. "Of course, the most important consideration is the practicality of the hairstyle," she began, clearly trying to keep her delight somewhat muted. "This does keep my hair from being an area of vulnerability," she said earnestly, before letting her lips grow into a wide smile. "But it is . . . nice that you managed to achieve such a flattering look for me."

Leliana beamed at the other woman sitting across from her on the log. "You are most welcome," she said, putting her brush and mirror back into her pack.

Before she knew what was happening Elissa crashed into her, surprising her with a sudden and intense hug. "Thank you," she whispered while squeezing her tight. "For everything." With that she released Leliana and sat back, leaving the former Chantry sister somewhat breathless. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get back to work."

She bounced to her feet, nearly stumbling into Alistair who had unexpectedly appeared behind her. "Excuse me!" she said joyfully, giving Alistair's arm a playful squeeze before fairly skipping over to Morrigan's side of camp where the two women often spent the evenings brewing their concoctions.

Alistair watched the other warden race away, before turning back to Leliana with an awed stare. "What in the void did you do to her?"

Leliana laughed but didn't answer, thinking to herself,  _only what I was meant to do._ She hummed a little tune as she put away her comb and mirror, recalling with a smile how soft Elissa's golden hair had felt under her fingertips.


	16. Evidence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's something Morrigan wants Elissa to see.

_And hence no evidence to support  
_ _Any theory I have handy  
_ _That you could understand me  
_ — _Ray,_ Aimee Mann __  


 _The Chantry must breed good storytellers,_  Elissa mused as she sat listening to Leliana, resting her back against the trunk of a wide oak tree. Both the ex-Templar and ex-Chantry sister had a way with words, she had to admit, and she found herself joining in with Alistair's laughter at Leliana's vivid description of a horrified noblewoman with bird shit on her head.

She enjoyed these moments when she didn't think on them overmuch. The first night she'd deigned to spend with Leliana and Alistair by the campfire (rather than by herself making traps or with Morrigan, making potions) she'd been vividly reminded of times spent with Fergus and Oriana.

Fergus was always joking—often at Elissa's expense. She had tolerated it because deep down she knew that her brother loved her. Likewise, once she'd begun to accept that Alistair's teasing hadn't been directed at her maliciously, she found herself rolling her eyes good naturedly and joining in with a laugh more often than getting annoyed at him, lately.

The foreign accent helped, but it wasn't the only thing about Leliana that reminded her of Oriana, with her love of all things feminine—dresses and shoes and  _hair_. Even if Elissa didn't find the topics particularly scintillating they were familiar enough to draw her into a chatty sort of friendship with the ex-Chantry sister.

It had been very comfortable that first night by the fire in their company, right up until it wasn't. Perhaps predictably, thinking about her family brought up other unwanted memories. The image of Oriana's broken, bleeding body lying in a pool of her own blood sprung to mind, along with the memory of how cold Oriana's skin had felt under her fingertips when she'd reached out to confirm what all her other senses had told her to be true.

She had turned to Alistair then, only to see Fergus' face staring back at her, a suddenly unfamiliar and unrecognizable laugh coming out of his mouth, and she was struck by the horrid thought that she'd likely never hear the true sound of her brother's laugh again.

She'd stood up, blinking away sudden tears and babbling some excuse about needing to get back to work. She stomped away almost blindly before finding herself drawn to Morrigan's side of camp.

At least Morrigan didn't remind her of anyone. And she never had to worry that an unexpected and unasked for display of sympathy from  _her_ would leave Elissa suddenly on the verge of tears, as often happened in the company of her generous and kindhearted new friends. The way both Alistair and Leliana would look at her sometimes when they thought she couldn't see—the pity in their eyes . . . it made her want to flee their presence.

She didn't deserve it, anyway.

But today the topic was light enough (if a bit gross) for Elissa's taste. It didn't hit any nerves or bring up any painful memories, so she enjoyed their brief respite from the mid-morning sun as the trio rested beneath the shade.

They were getting very close to Redcliffe, according to Alistair. He'd said they would be able to see it soon. Once they hit the peak of the hill they'd slowly been making their way up for the last day, they'd descend and eventually the trees would thin enough to give them a view of the village.

She suspected that she herself was the cause of their frequent breaks. She doubted either Leliana or Alistair truly needed the rest. Alistair had the exceptional physique of a man whose entire life had been dedicated to training and combat, while Leliana's time in the Chantry had not done much to soften the rogue's lithe yet unexpectedly muscled body either, Elissa couldn't help but notice. As for the others, Morrigan often took to the skies as a bird, scouting out the surrounding area, and so far Elissa had seen no sign that the witch found that particularly taxing. Sten had spent the last near month in a cage, but she could see no traces of exhaustion on the giant's face or in the way he moved.

Her pride might've demanded that she refuse to accept the unasked for concession had she not lacked the energy such an exchange would likely require. And she'd be hard pressed to argue against the evidence Alistair would use to indicate she did, in fact, need to take it easy. She knew she had dark circles under her eyes, and that she often stumbled through their treks, even when they stuck to the even ground of the Imperial Highway. She couldn't help it. She was so blasted exhausted all the time.

So she let herself enjoy the rest and closed her eyes, relaxing against a tree, as Leliana launched into a story about another Orlesian noble. Before she knew it she was being shaken awake by Morrigan.

The witch's face was somber. "Come with me. You need to see this."

Elissa blinked after her retreating form before scrambling to her feet. Alistair looked up at her and frowned, his disapproval for all things Morrigan evident on his face.

She ignored him and hurried to follow. Whatever the witch wanted, it was bound to be interesting.

"'Tis a wonder to me how you endure their presence," Morrigan said from the trees up ahead of her, without turning around. "How do you not tire of their incessant chatter?"

Elissa rolled her eyes behind Morrigan's back, before finally drawing even with her. "They are both  _nice_ ," she said, trying to keep from sounding winded.  _Maker_ , everyone she traveled with had so much energy. "It's not a hardship."

"Nice?" Morrigan repeated incredulously. "A completely meaningless term—"

"Pleasant. Agreeable.  _Kind_. Good-natured," Elissa ticked off the definitions on her fingers. "Hardly a meaningless term."

Morrigan snorted derisively. "Regardless, such a quality has no value. Tis only a thing to be used in the service of manipulating others. It should play  _no_  role in determining the worth of another person."

Elissa couldn't help but smile to herself, though she hid it behind her hand so that Morrigan wouldn't see. The woman was the only person Elissa had ever met who could straight-facedly argue against such basic human virtues as  _kindness._

Of course, that's how Morrigan saw the world: life was a zero sum game and every action had to be weighed only against the benefit or harm to her person alone. By that solipsistic sort of logic, anything that served one's own self-interest could be justified.

It was a fascinating perspective, and Elissa loved their debates on the subject. While she often disagreed with Morrigan's conclusions, she couldn't help but admire the self-determined sort of logic that got her there.

"You're wrong," she said after walking a few moments in contemplative silence. She'd had some time over the last couple of days to consider this topic. "Being polite helps to avoid conflict, and anything that helps keep order and guards against chaos is inherently good," she finished, pleased with her logical argument in favor of etiquette.

"What is this  _order_  that you speak of?" Morrigan barked a derisive laugh. "Look around you, noble  _brat_. Chaos is the natural state of the world." She halted suddenly and turned to face Elissa, crossing her arms to her chest.

Elissa stumbled to a halt, barely managing to avoid crashing into Morrigan. Something in the witch's eye stopped her from continuing their philosophical debate, however. She was giving Elissa a challenging smirk.

She looked around. They'd reached the top of the hill Alistair said overlooked the village of Redcliffe. The crest of it sat some hundred feet above the Imperial Highway that wound its way through the southern hills of Ferelden up to the village. Morrigan had taken her through the woods directly to the top, not bothering to follow the path of the road.

Morrigan raised an eyebrow at her and then gestured at the massive oak tree to her left. "Go on," she said. "Up you go. Unless you've somehow managed to gain the gift of flight . . ."

Elissa glared at the witch doubtfully for a second before turning to examine the tree, trying to ignore the jibe at her lack of magical ability. Morrigan could ferret out weakness in a person like Prince could catch a scent. She'd gathered from Elissa's breathless questioning, no doubt, how much she envied her magical abilities, and ever since had wasted no opportunity to point out her deficiency.

The closest branch was above her head, though it looked to be in reach. She frowned at the tree trunk a moment, before sighing deeply and turning to Morrigan. "A little help, please?"

The witch narrowed her eyes and her lip curved deeper into the smirk she was sporting, but she knelt without saying a word and linked her fingers together, lowering her hands so that Elissa might step into them and boost herself into the tree.

Elissa had no earthly clue why Morrigan wanted her to climb it, but she wasn't about to admit as much. She stepped into the swamp witch's hands and launched herself upward, using her momentum to swing herself onto the lowest branch.

Once she'd started climbing her mind began racing. Morrigan must want her to see something—something she'd been able to spot as a bird, flying overhead. Elissa frowned and wiped the sweat away from her forehead, before reaching up to the next branch to hoist her higher into the tree. What could she have seen?

Her curiosity seemed to refresh her tired limbs to help propel her up to the top of the tree, high enough to finally poke her head out above the leaves and gaze at the vista before her, balancing delicately on the branch at her feet.

The view just about stopped her breath.

Redcliffe village was actually quite beautiful. The shops and homes that made up the bulk of the small community sat nestled on stilts to keep them from collapsing with the erosion of the picturesque burgundy cliffs that had given the village its name. Elissa marveled at the ingenuity of both the village's design and the magnificent castle that sat on a higher cliff, linked to the village below by a large stone bridge.

Alongside the village sat the serene, impossibly blue waters of Lake Calenhad.

Elissa allowed herself a moment to breathe it all in, closing her eyes. The lake was a freshwater one, unlike the seawater Castle Cousland sat above, and yet the air smelled familiar enough to strike Elissa's heart with a sudden and painful sort of homesickness.

She opened her eyes and frowned out at the beautiful panorama before her, dragging her focus back to the task at hand and squashing the sadness that threatened to rise up within her.

She doubted Morrigan had gone to the trouble of dragging her out here just to bask together in awe of the beauty of nature. What had the witch seen that she wanted Elissa to notice?

It only took a few seconds before it hit her. She realized what was missing in the beautiful vista: ships. At this time of day, this time of year, Lake Calenhad should have been bustling with trade, and yet not a sail marred the clean line of the horizon where the water met the sky.

She inhaled a sharp breath. If Loghain's army had disrupted trade along the waters of the lake, there would be signs of extra troops occupying the small village. But, there was no evidence of that when Elissa peered at the hazy sky above Redcliffe. That many additional people would surely equal more cook fires burning, not just in the town limits, but all across the country side where an army would settle.

And yet, there were few chimneys with smoke emanating from them, she observed idly, before the thought caused her to stand up straighter and widen her eyes. In fact, barely any homes seemed to have a fire in the hearth, and while the day had turned into a lovely warm one, it wasn't so hot as to explain why nearly two thirds of the homes in Redcliffe appeared completely lifeless.

Elissa's throat went dry, and she scrambled down the tree as fast as her shaking limbs would take her. She got to the last branch and jumped, landing with a  _thud_  in front of Morrigan.

"Alright, I see it," she breathed. "Get down there—inconspicuously,  _obviously_ , and find out what is going on."

If Morrigan had hoped for a detailed summation of what Elissa had surmised, she didn't let it show. She merely nodded and in a flash of blinding magic shape-shifted into a bird, cawing loudly as she flew away.

Elissa stared for a moment, wondering once again how it was that Morrigan could shape-shift not only her body, but apparently everything she was wearing or carrying.  _Magic_ , she snorted to herself as she hurried down the hill to join the others.  _It makes no blasted sense at all!_

* * *

"There's something wrong with Redcliffe."

Alistair and Leliana both looked at her from where they were sitting by the wagon. "What are you talking about?" Alistair asked.

She licked her lips, suddenly aware of all the eyes upon her. Bodahn and his son also took a few steps closer and Sten looked up from where he'd been sharpening his great sword.

She turned back to Alistair, trying to ignore the pounding in her heart. Something about the way the giant regarded her always left her feeling so inadequate. "There's not a ship to be seen on Lake Calenhad," she said flatly. "That strike you as unusual?"

Alistair shared a worried glance with Leliana. "What else?" he said lowly, rising to his feet.

Elissa took a deep breath, feeling at least a little encouraged by the implicit trust he showed in her conclusion. "There are far too few cook fires burning in Redcliffe village, this time of day and year . . . it's as if the population has been cut by two-thirds."

Leliana gasped. "Did the darkspawn attack?" she asked.

Elissa and Alistair shared a look. He shook his head at Leliana. "I don't sense any darkspawn nearby . . ."

"Of course not," Elissa said breathlessly. "If the darkspawn had attacked, I doubt there'd be  _any_  villagers left."

They all fell silent for a few seconds as they contemplated the mystery. "So if it isn't darkspawn, what is it? What happened to the village?"

The way Alistair asked her the question as if fully expecting her to know the answer made her feel all the more frustrated for not having it. She frowned up at him, unable to voice the hated words  _I don't know,_ trying like hell to think of absolutely anything remotely plausible to explain why two thirds of the population of Redcliffe were simply unaccounted for.

They'd been traveling on the only route to Redcliffe, and they'd seen not one person coming from the other direction. If the citizens had evacuated, where to?

She might believe whatever illness that had befallen the Arl had also afflicted the village, but if people were dying . . . where were the funeral pyres? That many corpses would have to be dealt with, and fairly recently. Alistair had told her that Duncan had been in Redcliffe not two weeks ago.

It didn't make any  _sense._  Of course, when things didn't make sense, that probably meant there was some kind of  _magic_  involved, she thought, frowning at her feet in frustration as the seconds ticked by. Maybe that was it. Everyone just up and vanished in a blink of magic. That certainly made more sense than someone doing . . .  _something_  . . . with all those bodies . . .

 _Unless . ._. Her eyes went wide and her hand flew to her mouth. "The  _bodies_  . . ." she said quietly. "Oh,  _Maker_  . . ."

Alistair took a step forward. "What is it?"

"It's . . . the only explanation that makes any sense," she whispered. "It has to be—"

Before she could finish there was a flash of light and a large  _crack_  and then Morrigan was suddenly standing beside them. "Undead," she finished for Elissa, casting her gaze around the assembled party. "Redcliffe has been beset by an army of undead for the past three nights."

The gasps from everyone helped drown out the frustrated growl Elissa made at Morrigan's interruption. "I was just about to say that!" she snapped, and then immediately felt foolish when everyone turned to look at her doubtfully. "Well, I'd have gotten there _eventually_ , I'm certain."

Morrigan's eyebrow quirked up in amusement at that, but Elissa pointedly looked away.

"Are you certain about this?" Leliana asked Morrigan.

The witch nodded. "'Tis the sole focus of the remaining villagers. They wail to the heavens and whine that no one will save them before nightfall. 'Tis most entertaining."

Alistair made a strangled noise but Leliana placed a calming hand on his arm before he could get going. "What could cause this?" she asked.

"Spirits possessing the dead." Morrigan looked thoughtful. "There could be several causes behind such a thing." She gave Elissa a pointed look. " _None_  of them pleasant."

Alistair finally gained his voice. "We have to help them! I mean," he turned to Elissa with a pleading look. "You want to help them, don't you?"

Morrigan gave a snort. "How pointless, to help these villagers fight an impossible battle. One would think we had enough to contend with elsewhere."

"I agree," Sten's voice rumbled through the clearing, shocking them all into turning toward him. He'd been standing off to the side so silently Elissa had forgotten he was even there. "There are no darkspawn here, and nothing to gain. It is a fool's errand."

Elissa's heart was thumping wildly in her chest as the collective gaze of her gathered party fell upon her. She looked at Alistair with wide eyes, wondering how he could possibly stand by and let her—a near stranger—decide the fate of the village he'd known as home for the formative years of his youth. If it had been her, if it had been Highever—

She clenched her jaw and tore her gaze away from Alistair, knowing she needed to suppress her instinctive reaction to blurt out that  _of course_  they would stay and help, for this was Alistair's  _home_  for the Maker's sake. But, she hadn't been recruited for her instincts, she reminded herself. She was recruited for her reasoning.

She closed her eyes and willed herself to think of the right question that would make their course of action clear. "Say we leave Redcliffe to its fate," she said, opening her eyes to drift her gaze across her companions. "Then what?"

Leliana gasped again at Elissa's suggestion, and Alistair growled out, "You  _cannot_  be serious."

She whirled on the two. "Just  _shut up_  for a second!" she hissed, shooting daggers at them with her eyes. They both scowled back at her, but at least they fell silent. She tried to will down the panic she felt creeping up in her at their disapproving looks.  _If they would just_ give _me a blasted second to explain._  She took a deep breath, and then turned back to Morrigan. "What do you know about undead?"

Morrigan's shrewd gaze had witnessed the tension between the other three. She narrowed her eyes and answered, nevertheless. "There are many sorts of undead, but the most common are mindless monsters bent on destroying life."

"So what happens when they succeed?"

Morrigan shrugged a be-feathered shoulder. "Everyone in the village dies."

Elissa ignored the grumble from Alistair at that. "And then what?"

Morrigan stared at her for a long moment before giving a begrudging nod. "And then . . . their numbers will feed the undead army."

"Ahh,  _interesting!"_  Elissa said letting her eyes go wide. "So . . . we leave Redcliffe to its fate, let's say. How long until we're contending with a rampaging, ever-growing undead army cutting a swath through Ferelden, in  _addition_  to the darkspawn horde?"

It took a few moments for the gist of her words to sink into her companions, but then they all seemed to realize what she was saying at once. Alistair stepped forward, staring intently at Elissa. "So . . . what do you want to do?"

Her throat felt thick at his guarded expression. She nodded briskly. "We can't have an undead army harrying the countryside in addition to the darkspawn. And Redcliffe is too important to let fall." She lifted her chin and cast her gaze around her companions, daring them to defy her. "Let's get down there as soon as possible—no more breaks."

Her companions paused for a few seconds, and then everyone seemed to start moving at once. Sten sheathed his great sword, while Leliana knelt to gather up the remains of the meal they'd been enjoying. Morrigan took off once again and the dwarves started preparing the wagon for travel.

It seemed the debate was over.

Elissa took a few moments to close her eyes and breathe deeply as the others rapidly picked up camp around her.

When she opened them, Alistair stood in front of her, an unreadable ( _for once_ ) expression on his face. "Thanks," he said, at her quizzical look. "For agreeing to help." He paused a beat. "For a moment there . . . I thought you might decide it wasn't worth it."

Elissa swallowed the defensive retort that almost flew out of her lips.  _Of course we were always going to help,_  she had wanted to say, but stopped herself. She looked back at him calmly instead. "I have to consider everyone's input," she said evenly.

His reaction was telling. "Do you though? Really? Her opinion is always going to be the same—never help anyone at all,  _ever_."

Elissa sighed deeply, not bothering to ask who Alistair was talking about. Alistair didn't complain much, but when he did, it was always about Morrigan. "Regardless of your personal feelings for the woman, Morrigan  _does_  provide valuable insight. Her perspective is unfettered by cultural and societal biases you and I are probably not even aware of—" She saw the way his eyes unfocused and he stared off above her head, and she knew that she had lost him. She frowned up at him. "All voices should be heard when we're making important decisions, Alistair. Any good leader knows that. You'll need to consider more than one opinion when you're king, rather than simply—"

She realized her mistake seconds after the words had left her mouth.

Alistair's gaze sharpened back on to her. "I'm  _not_  going to be king," he growled.

She pressed her lips into a thin line, suppressing the  _of course you are_  response that had nearly flown out of her mouth. She thought it best that Alistair come to accept the inevitability of his situation sooner rather than later, but she hated how angry he got when she pressed the issue. " _If_  you're going to be king," she said with a frustrated sigh.

It was enough to make Alistair pause. She normally didn't back down an inch on this issue. He squinted at her. " _If_? You're actually conceding a point to me?" he asked, a smile starting to form on his lips.

She stared back up at him, fighting to keep the smirk off her face that was threatening to appear. "Well," she said with a shrug. "To be honest we'll both probably die long before that happens."

That earned her a snort of a laugh and with it Elissa felt a little of the tension seep out of her body. Her pessimistic assessments of their chances always seemed to amuse Alistair, for some reason. She didn't quite understand why, but she was happy to have side-stepped an argument with the man, for once.

She knelt to help Leliana gather their things, trying not to think about how accurate her pessimistic prediction might be as they prepared themselves to enter Redcliffe to fight an undead army.


	17. Tell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair and the gang arrive in Redcliffe and get to work

_Cause it's burning through the bloodline  
_ _It's cutting down the family tree  
_ _Growing in the landscape, darling, in between you and me  
_ _-Landscape,_ Florence + the machine __  


"You don't believe Loghain's lies?"

"What, that he pulled his men in order to save them? That Cailan risked  _everything_  in the name of glory? Hardly." Bann Teagan gave an indignant snort. "Loghain calls the Grey Wardens traitors, murderers of the king. I don't believe it. It is an act of a desperate man."

Alistair had always liked the bann, but right about now he felt like hugging the man. Teagan had been the only person in all of Redcliffe to recognize him (well,  _almost_ recognize him). Not that he'd wanted, necessarily, to be recognized as the "castle bastard" he'd been known as in the village. But it had felt odd to walk in such a familiar place and have everyone regard him as a stranger.

But more important than that, Tegan was also clearly on their side.

"Bann Teagan. It is good to see you've decided to align yourself with reason in this instance."

Alistair turned to Elissa in surprise. Her tone was icily formal. Teagan's gave a small gasp. "Lady Elissa?" His eyes widened for a fraction of a second, before his gaze darted to Alistair and then back to her.

Elissa's gaze seemed to harden in response. She inclined her head a fraction of an inch, but didn't offer any more in way of greeting. "So you survived. That is more good news," Teagan went on breathlessly, either ignoring or not noticing the way she was glaring at him. "Howe would have everyone believe—"

At the mention of the name  _Howe_ , Elissa flinched and looked down. Teagan faltered, but then took a step toward her. He bent his head and spoke in a low voice that only those nearest to him could hear. "Let me just say how very sorry I am for your loss, and for the tragedy your family has endured." Elissa looked up at the bann, her brows reversing direction, though still pulled together. "One of Loghain's greatest crimes is letting Howe's traitorous lies stand. Believe me, he will  _not_  get away with this, my lady."

"Thank you, Bann Teagan," she said quietly, her face softening at Teagan's sincerity. After just a moment, however, she narrowed her eyes. "So, you were in Denerim?"

Teagan nodded. "I was there when Loghain informed the nobility of the events at Ostagar. Trust me when I tell you I was  _not_  the only skeptical member of his audience."

It was welcome news, but it didn't seem to matter to Elissa. "So you weren't in Redcliffe two or three weeks ago?" Teagan started to shake his head  _no_  in confusion. "No time in the last month?"

"I . . . no, my lady. This is the first time I've been back in Redcliffe all year." He frowned in confusion. "But we have more pressing matters to discuss."

"Quite right," Elissa said, nodding briskly. She smiled warmly at Teagan, and the tension that seemed to sit on her shoulders since they entered the Chantry was gone. "The undead attacks," she prodded.

Teagan rubbed his beard thoughtfully. "I'm not sure how much Tomas has told you, but I imagine you have many questions—"

"Not as many as you might think," Alistair said out of the side of his mouth.

It was loud enough for Teagan to hear, and to his surprise the bann laughed, and then looked right at Elissa. "Of course," he said with a knowing smile. "Why don't you tell me what it is  _you_  need to know, Lady Elissa, and then we can go from there."

* * *

"So, wait, you know the bann?" They'd only walked a few steps away from Teagan after assuring him that they would consult with the mayor on how best to defend the village. Elissa gave him that look that meant  _obviously, you idiot_ , and Alistair gave a little sigh of frustration. "No, I mean he  _knows_  you." He stopped and she stopped with him. "Knows how smart you are," he added, for clarity's sake. It was Elissa after all.

She met his gaze, and Alistair braced himself for her retort. But she surprised him by simply saying, "Yes." That was all she felt was needed, apparently, because she turned away to resume her walk.

He grabbed her arm, ignoring the pointed look Leliana shot him. "Wait, Elissa,  _wait."_ She turned around and glared at him, but he didn't think he was being unreasonable. "What was all that about Denerim and his whereabouts? Why do you care?"

He half expected her to simply snap at him that it was none of his business. Elissa had an almost pathological aversion to answering any sort of question about her person or her life before the Wardens. But this time, she just lowered her head and said, "Not now," giving him a glance that he understood meant they would discuss it at another time, when they were alone.

"Fine," he said, letting his hand fall. Elissa resumed her march out the Chantry.

"Elissa," Morrigan fell into step beside her. "Our supplies run low—"

"Right. Elfroot. See if you can find any on the outskirts of the village." She held up a hand in warning. "But remember, leaving the village can trigger an attack, so don't stray far." Even Alistair could tell that Morrigan was happy with the assignment. The witch had seemed on edge since they entered the village-she was probably happy for an excuse to leave. At least, until Elissa's gaze fell to the mabari at her side. "Take Prince with you."

Morrigan gave a disgusted snort, but Elissa turned on her heel and kept walking before the witch could voice her disquiet. Alistair shot her a smirk before hurrying after Elissa himself.

The bright sun was nearly blinding when Elissa let it in, swinging the large Chantry doors wide. Without a word, Morrigan stalked off, Prince happily wagging his tail after her.

Alistair and the others followed. She paused at the top of the steps that lead down into the training yard, where the villagers were practicing, looking at Alistair as he drew next to her. "So this is the army we have to work with," she said, nodding at the villagers.

"This is no army." Sten stood on the other side of Elissa, and they both turned to face the giant as he spoke. His face was the same resolute mask it always was. "These are farmers, shopkeepers, millers—untrained in the art of war." He let his violet-eyed gaze fall on Elissa, and Alistair had to repress a shudder. "Without intervention, their chances of surviving another night are slim."

A few of the villagers who were milling about on the Chantry's porch turned their heads at that rumbling statement, looking suddenly more fearful. Alistair couldn't blame them. He felt his own pulse thrum in his throat at the giant's words, worried that he would convince Elissa to abandon the village to its fate.

"Yeah well, that's why we're here," he added loudly. "We're the intervention."

Elissa turned back to him, eyebrows raised. "That's true," she said, offering him a little smile, before turning thoughtfully to the yard. "Can they be taught anything in a few hours' time?" She looked up at Sten with the question, and Alistair couldn't help feeling a little bit disappointed. He understood that Sten had experience in the Qunari army, but he was no stranger to military life, either.

Sten's face remained impassive as he looked at the villagers. "Some basic combat tactics can be learned in a matter of hours," he said, and then turned to look at Elissa. "Whether these villagers can be taught is another question."

Elissa nodded thoughtfully. "Good," she said, before turning to Alistair. "What's your assessment?"

He smiled, realizing that she did, in fact, want to hear his opinion. He scanned the villagers. "Armor," he said, after a few seconds. "Weapons they seem to have and plenty, though what shape they're in I really couldn't tell you. But most of these men are in their street clothes."

"Excellent point." Elissa looked up at him thoughtfully. "Did the village have a blacksmith when you lived here?"

"I think so," Alistair said, looking out across the village. "There." He pointed at the house that sat at the edge of the practice yard. No smoke emerged from the building's distinctively wide chimney. He shrugged down at Elissa. "Maybe he died?"

She didn't answer, only nodded to herself and started walking. The rest followed.

A pile of crates, along with sharpened pikes of wood thrust into the ground at an angle, helped serve as a sort of barricade between the yard of the Chantry and the rest of the village. As they filed through a small gap in the blockade, a man with an impressive mustache and braided sideburns came into view.

Another man with a bow on his back approached him deferentially. "Still no sign of them coming from the castle, Murdock."

"Tell them to maintain watch," Murdock grumbled in a low, gravelly voice. "I don't want a surprise attack before the sun goes down."

"That seems unlikely," Elissa said crisply, walking up to the two men. "From what I've gathered they only attack at night, or when anyone attempts to leave the village."

Murdock gave her an uncertain look before turning back to the archer. "That'll be all, son."

The archer cast a nervous glance at the strange party in front of Murdock, before turning on his heel and fleeing. Murdock turned back to Elissa, regarding her with his hard brown eyes. His frown grew deeper as he scrutinized her.

Elissa lifted a hand as if to adjust the leather armor she wore, but then seemed to think better of it and let it fall beside her, blushing faintly at the mayor's obvious examination. "You must be the mayor of the village," she said stiffly.

"Or what's left of it. Name's Murdock. I take it you're the Grey Wardens?" he asked, letting his hard gaze wander to the party before him. Suddenly Alistair felt relieved that Morrigan wasn't with them. Murdock turned back to Elissa. "I didn't think they made women Grey Wardens."

Elissa's flush deepened. "We're not here to discuss your ignorance," she snapped, and Alistair had to stifle a groan. "We're here to discuss the situation."

The man's eyebrows climbed his forehead, before he shrugged, and Alistair thought his expression looked a little defeated. "We aren't going to turn aside anyone who wants to help. Don't take me for being an ingrate or nothing."

"Well, we  _do_  want to help, however we can," Alistair interjected, hoping to project a more friendly face than Elissa had. He shot her a warning look, hoping she'd take the hint and play nice. "You can trust us."

"Why is the blacksmith not working?" Elissa asked without preamble, and Alistair could only sigh and hope the mayor wasn't too thrown by her . . . conversational idiosyncrasies.

"That . . . is an issue," Murdock conceded, nodding his head and shooting a glare at the house closest to them. "Owen's the only blacksmith in town, but the stubborn fool refuses to even talk. If we're to be ready for tonight, we'll need that crotchety bastard's help."

"Alright, so convince the blacksmith to get back to work." She gestured with her head at the practice yard. "Your men are unseasoned and untrained," she said bluntly. "Is there no one in the village with combat experience?"

Murdock shrugged. "There's Ser Perth, and what knights from Redcliffe have returned, but most of the villagers are more used to wielding a plow than a sword." His gaze hardened and he looked out toward the lake, over their heads. "'course there's Dwyn, too, but the bastard flat out refuses to fight." He shook his head in disgust. "Having a veteran fighter like him could really help."

Elissa's gaze followed the mayor's. "Tell me about Dwyn."

"He's a trader. A dwarf. Lives near the lake. Locked himself up in his home with some of his workers, says he doesn't need any of us."

Elissa made a thoughtful hum before nodding her head in Sten's direction. "Your men . . . do you think they'd learn from a Qunari?"

Murdock gave soft snort. "A Qunari? You don't say." He nodded eventually. "They will if I tell them to."

"Excellent," Elissa said, nodding for Sten to follow Murdock. The mayor took his leave, leading the Qunari off to the practice yard, leaving only the three of them.

"Leliana, I think perhaps  _you_  should talk to the blacksmith," Elissa said, once the others were gone. "Convince him of the justice of our cause, if you will."

"That's a great idea," Alistair said, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically, if Elissa's raised eyebrow was any indication. But he couldn't help being relieved that she was delegating this important task to Leliana. The ex-Chantry sister had a way with people that Elissa . . . didn't.

Before Elissa could give any retort, Leliana waved a hand. "I'll have him making repairs again in the hour," she said. "Do not worry."

She gave a little curtsey and then walked away, leaving only Elissa and Alistair. He turned to her expectantly. "What do you want me to do?"

"How much difference can one veteran fighter really make?" she asked in a low, hushed tone.

He didn't think he imagined the candor that he only ever seemed to hear in her voice when it was just the two of them, alone. She trusted him enough to ask him questions she wouldn't pose in front of the others. He tried to answer seriously. "Honestly? Quite a bit. You'd be surprised at how much difference one experienced fighter can make in a battle."

"Well then, it seems my path is clear . . ." She seemed to trail off at the end, and though she didn't look at him, Alistair got the feeling she was expecting him to say something.

"Do you want me to go with you?"

She looked at him then, a faint smile on her lips, before shrugging and casting her gaze back to the village. "That might be prudent."

"Sounds good to me." They turned in unison to head toward the village, and then Alistair stopped and looked back. "Should we get directions from the mayor?"

Elissa smirked at him. "Do you really think I can't find the house of the only dwarf in Redcliffe without directions?"

He barked a laugh out at that. "No, of course not," he said, shaking his head and making a grand gesture toward the rest of the village. "Lead on."

Not ten minutes later they stood before a completely nondescript home that overlooked the shore of Lake Calenhad.

"Well," Elissa said with a sigh. "This is it."

Alistair frowned at the home in front of him, trying to see it the way Elissa must have. He had expected to find a house with a modified staircase, perhaps, or a smaller door, or windows that sat lower to the ground. This home had no such obvious modifications. After a few more moments of futile scrutiny, he shrugged. "Alright, I give up. How can you tell?"

The corner of her mouth curved upward. "It's the only house on the lake with anybody in it."

In an instant, Alistair realized it was true. There wasn't a sign of life from any of the homes that bordered the shore of Lake Calenhad. "Aww."

She shook her head seriously. "I know. I was disappointed with how easy it was too," she said, before bounding up the stairs to the door.

He smiled to himself as he followed her. She rapped on the door loudly, but there was no answer. She looked at Alistair over her shoulder and he shrugged. She tried the door, but finding it locked, knelt in front of it, reaching a hand into the satchel she wore at her hip and coming out with a couple of tools that looked remarkably like lock picks.

His eyes went wide. "You pick locks now?"

"Leliana taught me," she said, squinting at the lock as she struggled with it.

Alistair blinked down at her in even more surprise. "Leliana picks locks, now?"

She gave him that look, and went back to her work. A pink tongue escaped the corner of her mouth as she concentrated on the lock before her. But then he heard a sharp clang and Elissa startled.

"Blast it!" she said, holding up a broken lock pick. She stood and turned to him. "Now what?"

"Now, I guess we … break down the door or admit defeat."

Her eyes went wide but her lips pursed in excitement. She narrowed her eyes. "I hate admitting defeat."

He gave her a wide grin. "Me too," he said, and she took a step back, looking at him expectantly. He shook his head and laughed, and then slammed into the door with all his might, splintering the wood and spilling into the home.

Elissa followed right on his heels, and once Alistair steadied himself he realized how lucky it was that he'd come along.

Turned out, Dwyn wasn't alone.

The heavily armored dwarf stood in the center of his small living room flanked by two rough looking men in leather armor. The one on the left had a menacing black tattoo that covered half his face in a fearsome mask. The other was a bald thug with a great two-hand sword strapped to his back.

"Wonderful," the dwarf spat out. "Intruders. I hope you have a good reason for breaking and entering my home."

Elissa slid around Alistair to his left. "Well, you wouldn't answer," she said and stepped forward.

Tattoo Face took a step forward too, and Elissa came to an abrupt halt. For the first time, she seemed to notice the menacing figures. "And we broke the lock . . ." she trailed off as the thug in front of her leered at her, lip curling into a sneer as he looked her up and down. She swallowed audibly. "Admittedly it seems a rather impulsive choice in hindsight." She shot a glance at Alistair, as if the whole thing had been his idea.

Which he supposed was true, he realized, feeling the throb in his shoulder where he'd slammed into it.

"No,  _no,_  have the run of the place," the dwarf said. "It's not like I could stop people like you, anyway. The name's Dwyn. Pleased to meet you. Now, kindly tell me why you're here."

Elissa looked at him doubtfully, and in spite of the tension in the room Alistair could have laughed to see her struggling to interpret the man's sarcastic tone. "Right," she said taking a casual step backward and closer to Alistair. He held up a hand to keep her from backing into him, and she stopped with a jolt once her back touched it.

She glanced back at him uncertainly, before turning to the dwarf. "Why are you shut up in here?"

The dwarf scoffed, and his two thugs smirked at each other over his head. "We have supplies to last for quite some time, and my boys and I can swing a weapon better than any of those fools out there."

"I see," Elissa said, narrowing her eyes at the dwarf. She scanned the house briefly before giving a shrug. "Alright then, stay in here if you prefer."

The dwarf smirked. "That's a mighty fine suggestion. I think I'll do that."

Alistair let out a snort of disbelief. "That's it? You're just giving up? You and I have had longer arguments about breakfast!"

She flushed, but gave another shrug. "I'm not inclined to save him from his own stupidity and short-sightedness—"

" _What_  did you say?" Dwyn growled at them, hand resting threateningly on the hilt of his sword.

Alistair could have laughed if the situation hadn't turned quite so menacing. He took a step forward, raising his hands in a gesture of peace (and also putting himself between Elissa and the thugs). "She didn't mean anything by it,  _trust_  me."

"By what?" Elissa asked in a bewildered tone.

He looked back at her exasperatingly. " _Short_ -sighted?" he whispered.

Her eyes went wide with comprehension and one of her hands flew to her mouth. "S _hort-_ sighted," she snorted. "That's funny. Because he's a  _dwarf_."

Alistair winced, turning back to see Dwyn glaring at them, nostrils flaring.

"Why don't you tell them why you think that?" he asked, hoping to avoid a fight that was looking more inevitable by the second.

His instinct was a good one. She straightened and smothered the last of her laughter.

"Right. Well, I see three possible scenarios—none of them good," she said, oblivious now to the glares of her audience. "The first? The villagers survive and defeat the undead without you. How do you think they are going to feel about the only dwarf in the village staying safe inside and not helping when they had to hack at the risen remains of their friends and family? I don't think the village will remain a very welcoming place for very long—and an angry mob will always beat three lone fighters, no matter what their skill."

Dwyn laughed in scorn at Elissa's warning. "Even if that did scare me—which it  _doesn't_ —it doesn't matter. Those clowns will be dead by morning."

Elissa's eyes widened. "You think it's funny that the best-case scenario is the least likely?"

The thugs shifted nervously in place, casting dark looks at Elissa. "Alright, I'll bite," Dwyn said after a moment. "What's the worst-case scenario?"

"I have to tell you the second-worst scenario  _first_ ," she said, shaking her head. "The thing about the undead . . . what they want—what they  _crave_  is the flesh of the living."

She took a small step forward, but the thugs didn't react, too swept up in Elissa's shining eyes and awed tone to be suspicious.

"That's what drives them, and that's what will bring them back here tonight, and the night after tonight, assuming the villagers fail." She crossed her arms and squinted down at Dwyn. "How long do you think you'll last in here once they don't have any other living things to feed on? How long until you three join the number of the undead army?" She gave a coy look behind her. "And you with a broken door."

Tattoo Face made a strangled noise. "I'm not going to sit here and get turned into one of those  _things_ —"

"Shut up! She's just trying to scare us. She doesn't know anything." Still, Dwyn turned back to Elissa. He peered up at her out of the corner of his eye. "You said that was the second-worst scenario?"

Elissa's smile turned predatory. "Oh yes,  _that_ ," she said, in an almost seductive tone. "See, no one really knows how much of the person who was left behind remains when your body is raised from the dead and possessed by a spirit." She cocked her head the side and peered up at the ceiling. "Most people tend to think of the undead as simply walking corpses, but I have to wonder: when the flesh is reanimated, what if some small part of the brain is too?" She leaned forward and whispered. "They say the undead are filled with the insatiable hunger for human flesh. I wonder if you'd feel that hunger too? How horrible would it be to be trapped inside that body, unable to control it, forced to experience it all?" Her smile fled as a new thought took hold. "Imagine tasting human flesh against your will." She gave a little shudder, and then seemed to recover, nodding at Dwyn with finality. "Well, anyway, you've made your decision and we should respect it."

She turned to go, but Dwyn called after her. "Tell Murdock . . . he'll have his dwarven fighter for the battle tonight." He squinted his eyes at her. "I better see  _you_ out in the square when those creatures come."

"Of course," she snapped, but Alistair didn't miss the flicker of fear that passed over her features at the dwarf's words.

* * *

"You know, we could have taken them."

They walked along the dirt path up to the rest of the village. " _You,_  maybe," Elissa snorted. "Me? I'd have been a stain on his floor in a matter of a few seconds."

"Nah, we'd have been  _fine._ You could have handled Tattoo Face, I bet. Leliana says you're a quick learner with the blades." He looked over to see her reaction to the compliment, but she scowled at her feet instead of smiling or blushing like he'd expected. "What?"

She looked up at him as if surprised that he'd caught her frowning. She sighed and they came to a stop. "Why can't I just fight from range anyway? It's what I'm good at."

He gave a long sigh and looked down at her, gathering his thoughts. Clearly he had not made his case well in previous arguments. "I just think it'll be good for you—"

"—to get smashed in the face?" she finished for him, eyes wide and indignant. "Because that's what'll happen, you know."

He shook his head. How could he make his point if she never let him finish? "No, you don't know that. Look, you beat that alpha in the Wilds—"

"That was a fluke. An accident, at best," she insisted.

"Exactly!" he said, excitement making his voice loud. She looked at him in shock, clearly not expecting him to agree with her. Which he didn't, actually. "That's what you  _think_. But  _I_  don't think so. I think you have it in you to do it again any time you need to." He took a step closer to her. "I think you need to stick that family sword of yours into a darkspawn's guts again." He mimed the motion toward her, hand stopping a couple inches from her abdomen. "Just to prove to yourself that you can."

She frowned up at him, bringing her arms around her stomach where he'd "stabbed" her. "That's . . . well . . . that's . . . an interesting point."

He laughed, and then brought his hand up behind her head, and opened and closed it as if operating a puppet. "Yes, Alistair. You are right! That's totally logical!" he said, miming a high-pitched, feminine voice.

Her face scrunched up for a half second before a laugh burst out of her, and he felt a rush of warmth at the sound. Getting a laugh out of Elissa always felt like a bit of a triumph. She rolled her eyes at him, before turning to resume their walk. "Why are you always trying to make me laugh?" she said, after a beat, looking at him warily.

"You say that like I have some ulterior motive. Can't wanting to make a pretty girl laugh be reason enough?" She threw an uncertain glance at him, but then kept walking, training her gaze ahead of her. He stifled a sigh. He'd had just about as much success with his flirting as he had with his jokes. "Besides," he said after a few more moments of silence. "You could use a laugh."

"You think I'm too serious?" she said defensively, coming to a stop again.

Elissa's capacity for finding criticism where he meant none was truly astonishing. "No," he sighed. "That's not what I'm saying at all. Look, can I give you some advice?"

Her wary look turned even more suspicious. She stared at him silently for a few seconds before giving a pained sigh. "You wish for me to be less argumentative."

He gave a little snort of laughter. "You just really can't stand having to be  _told_  something, can you? It's  _killing_ you that you don't already know what I'm going to say, isn't it?"

Her brow creased even further into concern. "You wish for me to stop knowing things before I should? Is that it?"

"Elissa, _stop_ ," he said, and risked putting a hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him, clearly distressed that she hadn't yet identified the deficiency she was so sure he was going to point out. "What I  _wish_  is for you to just . . . stop being so hard on yourself." He gave her shoulder a little squeeze before releasing it.

She froze. "Stop being so hard on myself?"

"Well, yeah," he said giving a little shrug. "Elissa . . . you've been a warden what? A little over a week? You're not sleeping well, you're  _starving_ all the time, on top of . . ." he trailed off, unsure how to reference the tragedy that brought her here. "On top of everything you've been through," he said quietly. "You should cut yourself some slack. Nobody expects you to have it all figured out. You're only human."

Her head bent lower and lower while he spoke, until he was left looking at the tightly woven braid that encircled the top of it. He waited for her to respond, but for several seconds she simply stood there, contemplating the toes of her boots.

Finally, she lifted her head and looked at him, and for the first time since finding her all alone, covered in blood in the Korcari Wilds, some wall that was usually up was just . . . gone. "I don't know what to think of you," she said in a breathy whisper.

He felt a blush creeping up his cheek as she stared at him with such obvious and sudden warmth. He felt it deepen when she took a step toward him and placed a hand on his arm, looking at him under those dark lashes of hers. "Alistair," she said. "I . . ."

"You'll never guess what I've discovered."

They both whirled at the voice, turning to see Leliana standing beside them, a wide smile plastered on her face. Elissa's expression immediately turned curious, and she took her hand off his arm and faced the other woman. "What? Did you speak with the blacksmith?"

Alistair bit down the flash of disappointment at the interruption and turned to face Leliana. The redhead gave a nod. "Owen has agreed to make the repairs for Murdock's men."

"Excellent! How'd you get him to agree to it?" Elissa asked.

Leliana hesitated a fraction of a second before saying breezily, "I promised him that we would see his daughter home alive from the castle."

Elissa gasped. "What? How could you promise something like that? We don't even know if anyone is alive in there!"

Alistair felt his gut churn at Elissa's words. He didn't want to think about that possibility.

"I have faith in you!" Leliana said, still smiling brightly. "I know you can do it."

Elissa shook her head, and then stilled, looking at Leliana shrewdly. "Why are you still smiling?"

Leliana's eyes seemed to glow. "Because, after you hear what I have to tell you next, you're going to forget all about being cross with me."

Elissa raised an eyebrow. "That so?"

Leliana grinned. "Owen's daughter used to tell him that the arlessa was up to something—he believes some corruption in the castle is the cause of the attacks. She also told him that she thought the arlessa was having an affair with her son's tutor."

Alistair's eyes felt like they were bulging out. "Isolde? With Connor's tutor?  _Maker's breath_  . . ."

Elissa shushed him. "What else?" she asked, clearly not impressed quite yet.

"After I heard this rumor I knew I had to find out more. So I took a visit to the local tavern. When I entered I noticed an elf sitting in the corner, by himself. At first, I didn't think he was important, but then I realized there was something  _off_ about his demeanor—I questioned him, and I was right! He was a spy, paid to keep watch on the castle."

Alistair's eyebrows shot up. "Paid for by whom?" Elissa asked.

Leliana produced a scroll from where she'd had it tucked into her vest. "Take a look at this."

Elissa paused, looking at the parchment in Leliana's hand a moment before snatching it away. She looked up at the ex-Chantry sister searchingly one more time, before tearing her gaze away and unfurling the scroll.

Her eyes scanned the paper and then she gasped. "This is the Arl of Amaranthine's seal." Her lips moved silently and rapidly as she read and reread the words on the paper. "This . . . this points to the Arl's involvement with Eamon's illness!"

Alistair let out a breath. "And where the Arl is involved, so is Loghain." Bodahn had informed them that Rendon Howe had managed to get himself elevated to the position of Arl of Denerim, and was rumored to be serving as Loghain's most trusted advisor. Elissa had refused to speak to anyone for almost an entire day after she'd heard that little rumor.

Now she looked almost manic with glee. "It's circumstantial, of course, it doesn't  _prove_  anything, but it certainly points to foul play as the cause of Eamon's illness." She looked down at the ground in thought. "So Howe and Loghain tried to eliminate  _two_  noble families as threats to his rule—"

"—and he tried to kill off one of the only persons to know of Alistair's birthright," Leliana added.

Elissa's head snapped up and she looked first at Leliana, and then Alistair, narrowing her eyes to stare at him searchingly for a few seconds, before finally turning back to Leliana. Her polite, but distant, mask was firmly back in place. "Can you please inform Murdock about the blacksmith?" she said, in a formal tone. "And also tell him that the dwarf will be joining us in the fight tonight."

Leliana shot Alistair a troubled glance, but when he could only shrug in return, she nodded at Elissa. "Of course," she said, before heading off in the direction of the Chantry.

Alistair watched her go, a feeling of dread building up inside him. He turned back to find Elissa glaring up at him.

"You  _told_  Leliana?" she hissed at him the minute he faced her.

He closed his eyes a moment before opening them and shooting a steady expression at Elissa. "Yes, I did. Why?"

She gaped at him. "Why? Why on  _earth_  would you do such a thing—"

Her indignation was too much for him, and his anger sparked to life. "How about because it's  _my_  secret to tell," he hissed back, taking a step toward her. "At least  _this_  time I actually had a choice in the matter!"

She seemed to recoil from his words. "You really  _hate_  me knowing, don't you?"

"Of course I hate you knowing!" he erupted. The villagers nearby turned their heads to look at him, and he flushed at his loss of control. "If I had my way, none of you would know," he said, looking at his feet in disgust.

"Do you trust Leliana . . . more than me?" He had to be imagining the hurt tone in her voice, or so he thought, but she was staring at him, eyes twin pools of misery and her normally heart-shaped mouth pulled down into a sad little frown.

"What? No!" he said in horror. "I didn't mean  _that_  . . . that's not it . . ." He gave a huge sigh of frustration. "Just . . . just let me explain." He took a deep breath, trying to think of the best way to explain himself so that she might understand. "The thing is, I'm used to not telling anyone who didn't already know. It was always a secret. Even Duncan was the only Grey Warden who knew. So yeah, I . . . would prefer it if you hadn't figured it out, I guess."

"Why?" He brow crinkled in confusion.

He searched her face, wondering if he really wanted to admit all this to her. "It's just that anyone who's ever found out has treated me differently afterwards," he blurted out before he could change his mind. "I was the bastard prince instead of just being Alistair. I know that must sound stupid to you, but I . . . I guess I was just hoping that you would like me for who I am—not for who my father is."

Once the words were out he found himself holding his breath, wondering how she'd react to his confession.

She . . .  _laughed—_ a short, bark of a laugh, but a laugh nonetheless.

He wasn't sure if the warm feeling overtaking him was more humiliation or anger—probably an equal and heady mixture of both. "That's . . . that's great. I'm glad I'm amusing you."

She took a deep breath and then looked up at him warmly again. "Alistair," she said. "It's just a little ironic."

His eyebrows screwed together in confusion. "What is?"

She gave another rueful laugh. "That I  _do,"_ she said, and when he continued to stare at her blankly, she went on. "Like you for who you are, I mean," she added, smiling shyly up at him.

"Oh? I . . . oh," It wasn't until that moment that Alistair realized how unlikely he'd thought such a thing. But here she was . . . confirming it. "You see, I . . . didn't know that," he finished lamely.

She looked up at him with a much softer, more adoring expression than he'd ever seen her wear before. He found himself able to do little more than just stand there, basking in her gaze, until her smile faltered and finally turned into a frown.

"Well," she said at last. "Now you know." She gave a little cough and then turned back toward the village. "Go see what else Murdock wants," she called over her shoulder. "I'm going to go have a look at the general store. I . . . suddenly feel like lighting things on fire."

He stared after her for a good five seconds, wondering what exactly was so funny (or  _ironic_ ) about his confession, and why she'd run off like that after telling him she liked him. With a shake of his head he headed back toward the Chantry, resigned with the fact that he'd likely never know what went on in the mind of Elissa Cousland.


	18. Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang meet about the battle plan, but we also see flashbacks to when Teagan met Elissa.

_I feel like somebody I don't know  
_ _Are we really who we used to be  
_ _Am I really who I was_?  
— _Lucky Now_ , Ryan Adams

"Fergus! You'll never believe it! The most  _amazing_  thing has happened!" Elissa skidded to a halt in front of the giant desk in the study, where her brother reclined into a high-backed leather chair, looking at her with raised eyebrows. His gaze flicked to his right.

She frowned and cast her glance there, and with a start noticed that her brother wasn't alone. A handsome man with reddish brown hair stood off to her left. He was dressed in a fine burgundy waistcoat and the gold sleeves of his shirt appeared to be made of silk. He looked at her with piercing blue eyes under a brow that was creased ever-so-slightly.

Elissa's own eyes went wide for a fraction of a second, before she gathered herself up to stand properly in front of her elder sibling. "Do forgive me," she said, feeling her heartbeat in her throat. "I didn't realize you had company."

Fergus waved at the other man. "Elissa, you remember Bann Teagan, don't you?" He turned to the other man and shot him a smirk. "You'll have to forgive her. She's a bit of an eccentric—"

" _Fergus_! Don't tell him that!" she snapped, and then quickly looked at her skirt, smoothing it with her hand. "I'm no such thing," she finished after a moment, in a much softer tone.

Fergus gave an undignified snort. "Pardon me. Bann Teagan, allow me to present my completely ordinary, average, not-at-all exceptional sister, Lady Elissa Cousland."

" _I swear to the maker,_  mother dropped you on your head when you were a baby," Elissa hissed, before taking a deep breath and facing Bann Teagan.

The bann hesitated, mouth hanging open uncertainly, before he shook his head with a soft snort of a laugh that spoke of his familiarity with Fergus' particular sense of humor. Elissa remembered then that he was the youngest too. When he stepped forward she raised her hand automatically. He took it. "It is a pleasure to see you again, my lady," he said, brushing her fingers with his lips. He lowered her hand and smiled, and she couldn't help but notice the attractive way his eyes crinkled when he did.

She nodded and released his hand, shooting him a practiced smile. Before she could apologize her way out of the room Fergus spoke up. "So, do tell us this  _amazing_  news of yours, dear sister."

She looked up, feeling her lips freeze into an unnatural smile.  _Drat._  The news was literally the only thing on her mind—she could think of no plausible replacement. As she stood there faltering, Fergus' smile seemed to deepen, and his enjoyment at her discomfort was enough to make her roll her eyes and give a resigned sigh. Who cared if Bann Teagan thought she was crazy anyway? He was only a bann. "There's been a murder in Highever and no one knows who did it."

Fergus pinched the bridge of his nose. "Only you," he said, before opening his eyes and shooting Elissa a wry smile, "would describe murder as 'amazing.'"

* * *

A part of Elissa's mind marveled at how she had gone from listening in nervous silence at the council at Ostagar to orchestrating a battle plan and giving out commands to everyone in Redcliffe. What a difference a week made.

"Ser Perth and his knights will be stationed on this hill." She gestured to the map before looking up at Leliana, who was standing on the other side of the Revered Mother's desk. "Make sure he tells his men to be careful. That oil from the general store will prove useful in lighting the barricades, but fire doesn't discriminate. They should stay well back from it."

Leliana met her gaze briefly before looking down at the map and giving a quick nod. "I'll make sure he knows," she said demurely.

"You spoke with him already, right? Did his men need anything?"

Leliana looked up again, eyebrows rising slightly before she smoothed her expression into a serene one again. "Nothing that we could provide," she said simply.

Elissa frowned. Leliana had been acting cagey ever since their conversation earlier in the village. She bit back a sigh and brought her focus back to the map. She'd have to deal with Leliana later.

"I'll have Sten stay back here with the rest of the villagers." She pointed to the front of the Chantry where the most elaborate and bulky of the village's barricades was built. She looked to her left, where Bann Teagan stood, studying the plans while rubbing his chin with his hand. "You say the attacks always originate from the castle's main gate?"

Teagan nodded and gestured at the path from the castle to the village. "Each night they've come down this path to the village, and that's the same way they head back."

Elissa smiled. "They'll have some unpleasant surprises. I spent half the afternoon laying a collection of nasty traps for them." The ache in her lower back attested to the amount of time she'd spent hunched over her contraptions. She straightened and placed her hands on her lower back, stretching once again to try and work out the kinks she'd managed to acquire in one afternoon of hard labor.  _Maker_ , she was softer than practically everyone she traveled with.

"I'd give you an update on Owen's work, but from the looks of it you've already talked to him." Alistair smirked down at her from his spot to her right. "He does nice work for a drunk, doesn't he?"

Elissa glanced up at him and smiled before looking down at herself. Owen had crafted her new armor that actually  _fit._  It was light and supple, and the leather tunic rested on her body like a soft blanket—a stark contrast to the too-large studded (and stiff) armor she'd been forced to wear since Ostagar. The tunic was sleeveless—only her cotton, blue-checkered shirt covered her arms, but Elissa preferred it this way. Her range of movement was better, and besides, the tunic actually had a reinforced collar that extended up her neck. She never liked how her old set left her throat and collarbone completely exposed.

And, if Elissa were being completely honest, she had to admit the new armor flattered her small figure. The tunic fit snugly and extended almost to her knees, where it fell to a point in both the front and the back. It was slit up the sides to allow more movement, and coupled with thigh-high riding boots and soft, thin leather gloves, the entire outfit left her feeling a bit less out of place. For the first time since this horrid adventure had begun she felt like she was wearing armor she belonged in.

"This is much nicer than what I had before," she admitted, before looking up to see three pairs of eyes trained on her. She blushed at their scrutiny. "Anyway, I think we're about as ready as we can be before tonight."

With that, everyone moved to go. Elissa held up her hand. "One more thing," she said, and they all turned back to look at her as one. She took a deep breath—she was still getting used to the fact that these people kept looking to  _her_  to make the decisions and lead them. Not that she didn't agree she had the intelligence for such a thing, of course. She was just more used to strategically fading into the background. But she supposed those days were long since over.

She turned to the bann, peering up at him shrewdly. "These old castles, you know what they almost all have in common?" She didn't wait for him to answer, leaning forward and placing a hand on the desk. " _Secret_ entrances."

She heard Leliana and Alistair stir at her accusing tone but she ignored them, keeping her gaze trained on Teagan.

For his part, the bann stared down at her evenly. "Elissa . . . even if I  _did_  know of such a thing, what good would it do? We need help defending ourselves  _tonight._  We need you and your friends here."

"The bann's right," Alistair said. "Besides, it's almost sundown and whatever it is that's causing this whole mess seems to only be active at night."

Elissa crossed her arms across her chest. " _Or_ , night is the safest time to enter the castle, because all the undead will be attacking the village."

"Attacking the village that you swore to me you would help defend."

They all looked up at the fervor in Teagan's tone, but the man stared only at Elissa.

She held up her arms in appeasing gesture. "I am only fielding possibilities, my lord," she said smoothly. She looked at Alistair and Leliana. "What do you think?"

"I think Bann Teagan is right," Alistair said quickly, and Elissa had to quell the urge to snap  _of course you do_  in response. "Going into the castle tonight sounds way too dangerous, and the militia needs our help."

"I agree," Leliana said softly. She didn't hold her gaze when Elissa glanced at her.

Elissa swallowed the frustrated sigh that threatened to escape her.  _Pick your battles_. That had always been her mother's advice, and she supposed it applied here. She tried to shrug casually. "Very well! We stick to the original plan. And then,  _tomorrow_ , we enter the castle, presumably by the secret entrance."

The side of Teagan's mouth started to curl upward, but he shook his head. "We'll talk about that after the battle," he said. "Now, if that's all?" He didn't wait for her dismissal before moving toward the door.

Elissa bit her lip. "Actually, Bann Teagan, I was hoping we might have a chance to speak in private."

His brows knit together but he nodded. "Of course."

Leliana continued through the door, but Alistair hesitated, shooting a curious glance at Elissa. She gave a tight little smile and he nodded before leaving and shutting the door behind him.

She turned to face Teagan, who was now leaning against the Revered Mother's desk. "So it appears you're good at keeping  _some_  secrets," she said, crossing her arms to her chest.

His eyebrows climbed his forehead a moment before he gave a bark of a laugh. "Leaving aside the accusatory tone, what secret am I meant to have kept now?" he asked, cocking his head to the side.

Elissa rolled her eyes. "Please, we both know what I'm talking about. I'm not going to say it aloud. The walls may have ears and we've already found one spy in the village." She leaned in and whispered. "Did you really think I wouldn't figure it out? He looks just like Cailan."

"Of course," he said, shaking his head. "Elissa, we can talk about Alistair later—"

"I don't want to talk about Alistair."

He frowned down at her.

She took a step closer so that there were only a few inches between them. His eyes were closer to her level with the way he was leaning on the desk. "I want to look in your eyes, and I want you to tell me the truth," she whispered. "Did you tell anyone about me?"

* * *

"Well that was an enormous waste of time," Fergus snapped, slamming the carriage door shut. He pounded twice on the ceiling and with a lumbering shudder the carriage started moving, making its way back to the castle.

"Whatever do you mean, dear brother?" Elissa said innocently. "We investigated. Hopefully the local guard can apprehend the culprit."

She heard Fergus snort next to her and felt him turn toward her, but steadfastly kept her gaze on the window, staring with unseeing eyes at the snowy landscape as it went by.

"You've  _got_  to be kidding me. You dragged us all the way down to the village to gape at a dead body, ask the widow a bunch of useless questions, and then you shrug and say it must've been a bandit? That's  _bullshit_ , and you know it. Nothing was even stolen from the home!"

She turned to look at him with wide eyes. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Teagan sitting opposite them. He made no attempt to hide his bemused smile as he watched the two siblings bicker. "How should I know who killed that poor man?"

"Oh that is just rich." Fergus sat back with a sigh, and turned to face Teagan. The man raised his eyebrows in response. Fergus shrugged. "My sister would have you believe she's nothing but a craven gossip-monger, rather than reveal the truth."

Elissa's cheeks burned at Fergus' accusation, and she bit down on her lip hard to keep from snapping at him in response. He was just trying to rile her into revealing what she knew. But she had plans and she did not need her brother's pigheaded humor getting in the way. And besides, Bann Teagan didn't matter in the grand scheme of things. Let him think what he wanted.

She shrugged a shoulder, feigning indifference. "Nothing ever happens in Highever. It was exciting."

Fergus narrowed his eyes at her, before a slow smile crept over his face. "Have it your way then, Pup," he said, turning to look out the window. "Sit there and pretend you don't care. But I know you're just  _itching_  to explain the whole thing to us."

Elissa rolled her eyes and turned to resume looking out the window. Really, did Fergus think she had no self-control at all?

"I'm sorry," Teagan said with an apologetic cough. "But what exactly is it you're expecting your sister to explain?"

She looked at Teagan out of the corner of her eye. He was staring at them both with a sort of amused detachment. She pursed her lips, feeling temptation winding its way through her and weakening her resolve. But no—no matter how enjoyable it might be, she didn't need to wipe the serene look off Teagan's face.

Fergus gave out a snort. "She knows who the murderer is, and how he did it."

Teagan gave an answering snort of disbelief. "And how on earth would she know  _that_?" he asked, an eyebrow shooting upward.

Elissa clenched her hand at her side and kept her gaze on the window. She could feel her brother's gaze on the back of her head but she ignored him. "She just does. And the kicker is she's dying to tell us it all. I bet she had it within two, maybe three minutes of walking through the door. Isn't that right, Elissa?"

 _The two glasses on the side table._  That was what had done it, Elissa mused. She'd picked one up surreptitiously while everyone's attention had been drawn to the body lying on the floor. One was empty, though Elissa had thought it had been filled with some kind of stout ale. The other had smelled faintly of whiskey, but seemed to have a finger's worth of water at the bottom. That was the first clue . . .

Teagan shook his head. "They never even located the murder weapon. How could she possibly know all that?"

Fergus elbowed her in the arm, hard. "Ouch!" she snapped, twisting around to face her brother. "What was that for?"

Now that he'd finally gotten her to look at him, he lowered his chin and looked up at her. "You can trust Teagan. He won't say anything—he's good at keeping secrets."

Elissa raised an eyebrow. "You sound awfully sure of that," she said softly, glancing at Teagan. He was looking just a bit uncomfortable at her scrutiny.  _So Fergus is speaking of something specific. Interesting._ She turned back to her brother. "Father wouldn't like it—"

"Father won't know anything," Fergus said, waving a hand dismissively. "What's said here won't leave this carriage."

Teagan cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, what exactly are you two talking—"

"Fine," Elissa interrupted, and then leaned forward to stare intently at Teagan. "I'll tell you who killed that man, how and why, but neither of you breathe a word of this to anyone, understand?"

Teagan's eyes went wide and then the corner of his mouth curled up. "You're not serious—"

"Oh she is  _always_  serious," Fergus interjected, slumping down in his seat with a self-satisfied smirk.

Elissa whirled to face him. "That goes for you too, Fergus. You cannot share what I tell you with anyone, nor can you act on that information as the acting Teyrn of Highever. Understand?" Fergus had been left in charge of the teyrn while Father and Mother were in Orlais.

Her brother frowned at her. "What about justice? You're not suggest we let a guilty person go free—"

"Those are my terms. Accept them or not," she said, before leaning back in her seat and resuming her indifferent examination of the countryside in the window.

* * *

Sea-green eyes widened for a fraction of a second before narrowing to peer down at her. "No, Elissa, I have not," he said firmly. "I gave you my word and I've kept it."

She frowned up at him, searching his face for the truth. He certainly seemed sincere. "I mean it, Teagan. I need to know if you told anyone . . . like your brother.  _Especially_  your brother."

"No, Elissa, I haven't told a soul. I swear by the Maker." He gave an exasperated sigh. "What does it even matter? You're obviously not trying to hide anything anymore."

Elissa leaned back, regarding the bann thoughtfully. She could never rely on it fully, but her gut told her Teagan was telling the truth. And besides, the facts complied with what he was saying. "Because," she breathed out. "Someone told the Warden Commander about me. And the list of possible suspects is rather slim." She frowned up at him again. "So imagine my surprise when I heard he'd been in Redcliffe not three weeks ago. That struck me as a curious coincidence."

"But I only just returned—"

"I know." She gave a rueful shrug of her shoulder. "I . . . I know that now anyway. You weren't here. But you could've talked to Duncan in Denerim." She thought Alistair would've mentioned it, but it was an easy thing to confirm with him later. She shook her head. "I'm sorry, I had to ask."

Teagan nodded slowly. "I can see how you'd think that, but I assure you, I've kept my word to you. If Eamon knows about you, it didn't come from me."

Elissa took a deep breath, feeling something in her chest give way at Teagan's sincerity. "Well, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. You've got a good track record with secrets." She narrowed her eyes. "You even kept one from me."

A slow grin spread across his lips. "You don't hold that against me, I hope?"

She snorted indecorously. "How can I? Frankly, I'm impressed. It's a rare person who can keep anything at all from me. I suppose Fergus was right about you."

At the mention of Fergus, Teagan cleared his throat. "I was very sorry to hear that Fergus—" She stiffened and he hesitated, before continuing softly. "—has gone missing. I haven't given up all hope, however, and neither should you."

She shook her head roughly. "It doesn't matter," she said, more harshly than she meant to. She softened her expression, and tried again. "Thank you, my lord. But I can't really think about that right now." She surprised herself—both the crack in her voice and the confession were unintended. They had the desired effect, however.

"Of course," Teagan said smoothly, rising from where he'd been leaning against the desk. "If you'll—"

The door to the office burst open and Morrigan strode in, reeking of smoke and elfroot. "I've made all I can with what passed for ingredients around here," she said without preamble. "Including that warmth balm you requested." She crossed her arms and waited for Elissa's next command.

"Thank you, Bann Teagan," she said, nodding her goodbye. "We'll . . . pick this up again later, if it pleases you."

He smiled and nodded and she turned back to Morrigan and then gestured impatiently for her to exit so she could follow her out.

The made their way through the winding back halls of the Chantry to the sanctuary, where the villagers were now waiting fretfully for night to fall. They got to a corner of the wide hall and Morrigan knelt, retrieving a cloth satchel and shoving it roughly into Elissa's arms. She heard the tinkle of glass containers rattling together. "Careful!" she admonished, before shouldering the burden. "I take it you want me to deliver these vials to the knights, then?"

Morrigan shot her a look over her shoulder. "They'll need help applying it to their faces," she said, before pausing and shooting Elissa a snarl of a smile. "I think they might object to my touching them."

"Right, I'll handle it," she said with a sigh, and made her way out of the Chantry. As she raced down the stone steps leading into the practice yard she spotted Leliana, aiming an arrow at a target. She released the bowstring with a twang and the arrow struck the target's center. Elissa gave a soft whistle. "Nice shot," she said, coming to stand next to her with a smile.

Leliana didn't meet her gaze, but pulled another arrow from her quiver and notched it. "Did you need something else of me?" she asked coolly, pulling the bowstring back.

Elissa gave a frustrated groan. "Leliana, I'm sorry," she confessed in a rush, the tension between them suddenly too much for her to bear without comment. "I didn't want Alistair to tell you . . . . what he told you," she said, taking a step closer to Leliana and lowering her voice. "That information is extremely sensitive and dangerous if it falls on the wrong ears. You of all people should know that."

Leliana looked over at her uncertainly, still holding the bowstring back. "You don't trust me," she said quietly.

"No, I don't," she said, trying to ignore the way Leliana's face threatened to crumple at her words. "Look, you have to understand—trust doesn't come easily to me right now. I don't like talking about it, but I think . . . I think Alistair's given you the broad strokes of what happened to me, right?"

Leliana turned fully to her and lowered the bow, finally. "Not really," she said. "All he said was that you came to the wardens through tragedy, but that he didn't feel it was his place to tell your story."

Elissa blinked at Leliana, surprised at the sudden prickling in her eyes. She felt a rush of gratitude that Alistair had protected her privacy. "That's . . . well, that's kind of him," she stammered. "But the truth is . . . I . . .  _we_  were betrayed. By someone we thought was an old family friend."

"Arl Howe." Elissa could only nod in response, staring down at the ground. "I understand," Leliana said after a moment. "More than you realize."

Elissa's head snapped up at the confession, and she saw something unrecognizable in Leliana's gaze for a few seconds, before it was gone and replaced with a sad little smile. "That's . . . that's good then. I'm sorry . . . No hard feelings?"

Leliana started to shake her head but then stopped and looked at Elissa out of the corner of her eye. "So, you didn't tell Alistair about me? About my past?"

Elissa blinked at her, a bit taken aback. "Of course not!" Leliana's eyes widened in surprise. "Hey, just because I can sniff out secrets doesn't mean I blab them to others." She leaned forward. "Your secrets are your own to tell, Leliana, not mine. I'm one of the few people you'll ever meet that is actually good at keeping them, so you're lucky."

Leliana's eyebrows shot upward. "I . . . thank you," she said, a genuine smile spreading across her face before a sudden frown appeared. "I will tell him when the time is right."

Elissa pursed her lips. "Are you sure about that?" At Leliana's curious look she shrugged. She wasn't sure how Alistair would handle Leliana's past, but she knew their little group didn't need any more conflict than it already had.

Leliana bit her lip and looked off in the distance thoughtfully. "I . . . I think so," she said after a moment.

Elissa reached out to put her hand on Leliana's shoulder. "It's up to you, but think carefully. Once you tell there's no undoing that, you know?" She gave Leliana's shoulder a squeeze. "Sometimes people are better off not knowing," she finished quietly.

* * *

"Alright, so," Elissa began, feeling like her blood was singing in her veins. Maker, did she love this part. "Remind us all of what the widow claimed." She looked expectantly at Teagan.

The bann shot an uncertain glance at Fergus, who waved a hand encouragingly. "Go on, indulge her. Goes faster that way."

Teagan shook his head and gave himself a little smile. "Right. So, according to the widow, her husband came home every day from guard duty around five o'clock. They sat and had a drink together*, like they always did, and then her husband said he was too tired to head to the Inn for the evening meal. So, the wife got dinner started instead, and popped over to her neighbor's house to borrow some vegetables. When she came back, her husband lay dead in the middle of the living room, having apparently been bludgeoned to death by a large club or mace. The widow ran back next door and shouted at the neighbor to get the town guard." He sat back and looked at Elissa curiously. "The guardsmen searched the home and surrounding yard, but found no evidence of forced entry or stolen items, and the murder weapon is still missing. Does that cover it?"

Elissa nodded briskly. "It does, though I know exactly where the murder weapon is." She ignored the way Teagan's eyebrows rose at that. "Tell me, do you believe her?"

Teagan shrugged his shoulders. "Everything certainly appeared to match her story. There was a leg of lamb roasting over the kitchen's cook fire, and the neighbors confirmed that she did in fact stop by. They said she appeared perfectly calm and happy." He narrowed his eyes at Elissa. "You're not suggesting she had something to do with it are you?" Elissa raised her eyebrows but said nothing. Teagan's eye's widened. "The woman is heavy with child. Why would she murder her own husband?"

It was Elissa's turn to shrug. "I imagine it had something to do with whatever bad news the husband delivered when he got home."

Teagan's eyes grew even wider, and his mouth fell open. "Wait . . . you're saying it  _was_  the widow? But why? And how? The guards still haven't found the murder weapon!"

"Yes, they have. In fact I'm willing to bet that it's right under their noses as we speak." She shook her head. She couldn't help but be impressed with the ingenuity of the murderess.

Both men leaned forward in their seats. "Don't keep us in suspense, sister! Tell us what happened," Fergus said.

"Well, you've heard most of it already. Almost everything the widow told you was true—save for a few important details that she left out." She looked in turn at both Fergus and Teagan. "The glasses on the table—did either of you notice them?" At their blank looks she went on. "Well, I did. At first blush they'd appear to corroborate the woman's tale, but on closer examination they really do tell the whole story."

Teagan leaned even farther forward. "What story? What do they tell?"

Fergus snorted a laugh. "Oh don't encourage her! She's drawing it out on purpose. Come on, Elissa, cut to the chase."

She rolled her eyes and then faced Teagan, a smile spreading over her lips. "I noticed it right away. Both glasses smelled of alcohol, but one had a finger's worth of water in it, while the other was empty. Why do you think that is?"

Teagan frowned at her a moment, before his eyebrows shot up. "He was drinking whiskey on the rocks? And the ice melted?"

" _Indeed_. Precisely that—a good Ferelden custom, drinking liquor on ice. Only in a country where it's winter six months out of the year. . . " She shook her head softly and laughed, before leaning forward. "And this man, coming home from work on a day like any other day, knocks back his whiskey fast enough that the ice is left to melt in his glass. Sounds like someone getting a little liquid courage before laying a horrible truth on his wife, don't you think?"

Teagan and Fergus shared a look. "What else?" Fergus urged her on, and she could see by the way his eyes were shining that he had full confidence in her deduction. It filled her with sudden warmth, and she found herself mentally forgiving him for all his teasing and goading. Deep down, she knew the reason he did it was because he was proud of her and her abilities, and felt she took too little credit for them. "Did you happen to notice the way the lady kept gagging?" She mimed how the woman had heaved, bringing a hand to her mouth. At their stunned looks she blushed, wondering if her impression had been a bit too realistic. "Well, did you?"

Fergus shrugged. "She's with child."

"Precisely!" she said, clapping her hands in excitement. "Oriana was the same way with Oren . . . couldn't handle the smell of cooked flesh, right up until the day he was born." She shook her head. "And yet, in spite of this she throws a leg of lamb in the stew pot." She leaned forward. "I checked out back. Someone went to the icehouse quite recently." They stared at her blankly. "To fetch a  _frozen_  leg of lamb," she said, pausing significantly before going on. "Imagine its size and weight . . ."

"She killed him with the leg of lamb?" Teagan said breathlessly, and then he and Fergus fell silent, regarding each other for a few moments.

Finally, Fergus let out a soft whistle. "That would be like hitting him over the head with a war hammer."

Teagan blinked at him. "Wait, so you're saying the wife went out back, grabbed a frozen leg of lamb, whacked her husband over the head with it, and then calmly headed over to the neighbor's to borrow some vegetables?"

"No!" When they both looked at her she sat back with a smug smile. "She finished her drink first."

The two men stared each other in silence again. "Holy shit," Fergus said. Then, he turned to Elissa with wide eyes. "And you want to just let her get away with it?"

Elissa shrugged her shoulder and leaned back. "Whatever he had to tell her must have been awful. Imagine.  _I'm leaving you for another woman._  Or maybe he found out the child wasn't his. Who knows?" She looked out the window. "Sounds like he had it coming."

Fergus gave a snort of disbelief. "You can't be serious. Even if he came home and told her something like that, it doesn't justify  _murdering_  him!"

"Of course it doesn't!" she snapped, irritated at the breathless shock in her brother's voice. "But what about the babe in the woman's belly? What does he deserve? To grow up knowing that his mother killed his father? And he'd be an orphan, too. They'd keep her alive just long enough to see the child born, and then they'd hang her, and he'd be just another mouth to feed in the chantry." She crossed her arms to her chest. "The kid's better off not knowing the truth. Some things people just shouldn't learn."

Neither man had a ready response to her diatribe, so she resumed her examination of the countryside out of the carriage window.

After a moment Fergus finally gave a soft snort. "I don't know about this," he said quietly. "Feels a little bit like playing the Maker."

Elissa gave her head a slight shake. "A lot of people with less sense than me play at being the maker every day." She shrugged. "Why not someone as smart as me?" She shot her brother a grin, but he just continued to stare at her doubtfully. Her grin quickly vanished, replaced with a scowl. "And yet you'll keep your promise just the same," she snapped.

He stared at her for a few more seconds before giving a resigned shrug of his shoulders. "I gave you my word. Nothing'll happen to the widow."

"Good," she said, leaning back in her seat once again. "Besides," she said coyly, sneaking a glance at Bann Teagan. "The murder weapon's probably being eaten right now anyway."

Teagan's eyes widened but a snort of a laugh escaped him. She resumed staring out the window, her own lips twisting into a little smile for herself.

* * *

The waiting had been the hardest part of executing Elissa's battle plan. In every other skirmish so far, she'd been thrust into combat unexpectedly, with no time to contemplate her imminent danger. But waiting for a battle that she knew was coming frayed what was left of her nerves. She almost had convinced herself that she'd forgotten all of her training when Alistair stopped by to chuckle at her nervousness and explain that what she was going through was perfectly normal.

She still felt a little unsteady around the ex-Templar. Ever since she'd declared her regard for him and he'd  _most_  conspicuously had not offered a reciprocal declaration. Still, she accepted his reassurances for the kindness they were likely meant as, and before she knew it, she was chuckling along at something or other that Alistair had said, when a shout rang out from behind them.

"Here they come!"

She watched with eyes widening in horror as an orange-white glow spread out from the castle's main gates. Elissa had pictured lumbering shuffling creatures—not this fast moving horde. It would take only seconds to see how well her traps worked.

The path from the castle consisted mostly of caltrop and claw traps. Not really meant to kill, merely to thin the herd and slow them down. They worked about as well as she could have expected, but she still waited with her heart in her throat for the horde to hit the first of her may grease traps.

These were the most important, and  _should_  prove to be the most lethal. They were also the most worrisome for Elissa. She hadn't had the time or resources to do much testing, and she had no idea how far out the blast radius of the grease would be. She had spoken often and loudly about the need for Redcliffe's knights and the other assembled fighters to stay well back from the crest of the hill, and not to charge in at the first sight of the enemy. She thought they understood, but it still made her very nervous when the first corpse—covered in a highly flammable mixture of lamp oil and grease, got too close to the flaming barricade.

With a  _whoosh,_ the corpse lit up, and soon all the walking dead around it were glowing bright with flickering flames. A cheer went up from the surrounding men at the success of the traps so far.

It was the cheer that did it, Elissa realized after the fact. Several knights surged forward in its wake, heartened by their weakened-by-fire foes.

" _Stop!_ " Elissa positively screeched out, panic making her throat feel tight. The wind seemed to take her voice, and she risked taking two steps to bellow out as loud as her lungs would allow, " _Soldiers, HALT!"_

Finally, two of the figures halted and looked back uncertainly as she frantically waved them back. "There are more grease traps rigged up there! Get back here!"

But the third soldier never heard her, or if he did, he was too taken by battle rage to listen. He continued forward, as did the flaming fore guard of the undead army.

Time seemed to grind to a halt. Feeling as if she were swimming under water, Elissa turned to flee back down the hill.

Her back was turned, so she would never know if it was the knight or one of the walking dead that hit the second grease trap, but her spine tingled in horror when she heard the knight's high pitched scream as he was engulfed in a violent whoosh of flames. The heat at Elissa's back was so intense she worried that her hair had caught on fire. She rolled to a stop before she was able to stand up and look around.

The undead  _burned_. Their flaming husks mostly stumbled around in a firestorm at the top of the hill, before falling in heaps. Those that managed to continue down the hill were quickly cut down by archers, Elissa's frantic urging keeping all the melee fighters well back while the grease fire burned.

She had no real idea of how long the fight lasted. But when it was over, the acrid smoke felt thick in her lungs.

Morrigan cast a blast of ice at the top of the hill, putting out the last embers of the smoldering fire. A figure lie still their feet.

Elissa knelt down to examine the blackened body. To her surprise the man's chest rose and fell. With a gasp, she reached for a potion from the satchel she wore at her hip. Before she could reach inside, a hand clasped tightly at her wrist. She looked up in surprise, finding Morrigan's angry yellow-eyed gaze upon her.

"He is beyond our healing ability, Elissa. Keeping him alive is not a kindness." She released Elissa's wrist and pressed a small silver dagger into her hand. "I will do it if you cannot," she finished, and Elissa was surprised at the tone the witch used. She sounded almost . . . sympathetic.

 _Maker have mercy._  She turned toward the still-smoking man and realized that Morrigan was right. It would take many, many of their potions just to keep this man alive, and the risk of infection with the kind of burns the man had suffered meant that he would continue to need alchemical aid to survive. It was . . . it would cost too much to keep him alive, and even if he were to live, he'd be horribly disfigured.

Elissa took a deep breath, suddenly heaving at the smell that assaulted her. She gripped the dagger in her right hand, and giving herself only two more seconds to prepare herself, she drew it swiftly over the throat of the sputtering knight. In a matter of heartbeats the man's breathing stopped, and the pool of blood under him widened almost to Elissa's knees.

She sat there watching the blood spill out a few seconds, before taking another stuttering breath and getting to her feet. As she did, her eyes met Morrigan's. For the first time she saw something like approval in the witch's somber expression.

"The monsters are attacking from the lake! They're attacking the barricades! We need help!" A soldier shouted as he ran up the steep path that led to the village.

 _A lot of people with less sense than me . . ._ Elissa shook her head roughly to clear it of her memories as she ran. This self-doubt was useless  _. . ._ she had done what she had to do.

Still, she couldn't help gagging at the smell of burnt flesh that seemed to permeate the entire village. She stifled her heaving and ran after Morrigan and the others to the chantry, desperate to get away from the burning corpses that littered the top of the hill.

* * *

* _Disclaimer-Pregnant women should not drink alcohol, obviously, but I'm assuming the practice wasn't as frowned upon as it is today. (Hey, I heard in 2008 from an Irish waitress that a half a pint of Guiness was good for the baby...so even today there are some strange ideas out there :)) Besides, that little detail came straight from a wonderful short story,_ Lamb for the Slaughter  _by Roald Dahl, and that was the inspiration for this little murder mystery of Elissa's. I'll hope readers will forgive me for borrowing from it so liberally for these little flashbacks, but I kept thinking of that story and wondering what Elissa would make of it. Thanks again for reading, and thanks especially to **Riptide Monzarc** for giving this beast a look-see as it was being hobbled together. Thanks again!_


	19. Heal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morrigan is tired of saving fools from their own stupidity.

_All your acting  
_ _Your thin disguise  
_ _All your perfectly delivered lines  
_ _They don't fool me  
_ — _Dust to Dust, the Civil Wars_ __  


"That's _all_?" Morrigan's incredulous question seemed to startle the red-haired tavern wench.

They were standing in the Chantry, surrounded by casualties. The sanctuary had been turned into a battlefield hospital with the injured lying on cots that lined both sides of the wide hall, leaving only a narrow aisle down the middle for walking.

The villagers had been lucky: they'd lost only a few townsfolk, and it appeared the undead threat was over, at least for the night.

"W-w-well there were a lot of burns," the girl said, shrugging a shoulder and looking up at Morrigan with big, doe eyes. She held a tray laden with the last of Redcliffe's poultice supply.

Morrigan had spent almost all afternoon gathering as much elfroot as she could find within the town's limits, and then the rest of it was spent creating dozens of poultices. She'd made enough for each fighter, plus extra to have on hand afterwards just in case.

Two large wine-red bottles sat upon the tray, surrounded by seven or eight of the smaller vials.

" _Ten_  poultices? I made dozens!" Morrigan huffed out a sigh. In spite of Elissa's repeated warnings, many of the villagers had managed to light themselves on fire in the chaos of the battle. If it were up to her, she'd have let them suffer for their foolishness, but Elissa had insisted that they try to save as many people as possible. Still, that didn't mean she had to  _like_  it. "Your fellow townsfolk are a stupid, pathetic lot."

The girl just blinked at her. "Well, they don't know any better," she offered, still holding the tray of healing poultices awkwardly in front of her. "Most of them have never even picked up a sword—"

"Yes, yes," Morrigan said, waving a dismissive hand. There was no sense lamenting their situation. Now she could only make do with what they had. "Let's assess the casualties and hope what we have is enough."

"Begging your pardon," the girl said meekly, before Morrigan could turn to go. She glared down at the tavern wench expectantly. ". . . but I already did that. There are four broken bones and half a dozen severe burns. The two critical cases are a stab wound to the abdomen and of course, the poor Mayor—"

"The amputee, yes," Morrigan said, nodding thoughtfully. "He won't live through the night without alchemical aid." She peered down at the girl holding the poultices with new eyes, moderately impressed at her helpfulness. "What did you say your name was again?"

"Bella," she said, managing to bend into a little curtsey while still holding the tray. "And you're Morrigan, right?" She gave the witch a hopeful smile, before looking around furtively and then leaning forward to whisper, "They say you're a Witch-of-the-Wilds."

Morrigan rolled her eyes again. " _They_  say a lot of things," she said, crossing her arms across her chest. "'Tis hardly a relevant topic now."

"Of course," the wench said, immediately contrite. She bowed her head and Morrigan felt a surge of relief that the conversation was at its apparent end. But Bella looked up at her after only a moment. "Just curious, can't we divide up the bigger ones and spread them around?"

Morrigan shook her head. "'Tis not like making a  _soup_. 'Twould be a waste of ingredients." She pointed at one of the larger bottles. "These are most effective when taken all at once."

"Oh," Bella said, face turning a bit pink. "I . . . didn't know that."

Morrigan scowled down at her. "Of course you didn't. Why would you?"

"Right," the other woman said, shaking her head roughly. "Anyway, I think we have just enough to treat the most life threatening cases. The others will have to make do until morning."

"Fine," Morrigan said, nodding crisply. "Deliver your poultices then. Do report back if anyone is feverish or unconscious, but otherwise, leave me alone."

"R-r-right," Bella stammered, before finally turning and leaving Morrigan in peace. She took a deep breath and looked up at the ceiling, the noises of so many people crammed in one place suddenly assaulting her ears.  _How can they stand it? Living on top of each other like this?_  With a curl of her lip she turned toward the front of the Chantry, intent on escape.

Just then the doors banged open, and three figures limped their way inside, with a fourth scrambling after them. When they stepped into the lamplight, she saw Alistair and Leliana, supporting Elissa between them. With a start she noticed an arrow jutting out of Elissa's chest, just below her left breast.

Morrigan's mouth fell open. "You got shot?  _Again?_ "

"It's not her fault!" Alistair's voice sounded high-pitched and frantic. They took another step forward and Elissa groaned.

"I'm so terribly, terribly sorry!" The man behind the trio came after them, wringing his hand. "I saw her come down the hill and I thought it was more of them! I didn't mean it! I'm so sorry!"

"It's alright, Tomas," Elissa said through gritted teeth. "It's fine."

"'Tis absolutely  _not_  fine!" Morrigan snapped, and Tomas visibly blanched. "You shot one of the only remaining Grey Wardens in Ferelden, you  _idiot—_ "

"Morrigan!" Alistair practically yelled. "Lay off of him would you? And help Elissa!"

She glared a second longer at the archer from the bridge, who was blubbering in near tears now, before turning back to Elissa. Ignoring the others she bent over to inspect the wound. "'Tis fortunate you had sense enough not to remove the arrow." She straightened and looked Alistair in the eye. "That might've killed her." The Templar paled, but Elissa gave a soft snort.

"I'm not an . . . idiot," she said through labored breaths. "But you've got . . . to get the arrow . . . out."

Morrigan raised a hand in front of Elissa's face. "Stop talking," she ordered, and then spun on her heel and stalked over to the closest cot. "You!" She pointed at the man lying there. He had a bandage wrapped around his head and his arm was in a sling. "Move!"

A woman with mousy brown hair in ragged braids wailed from the other side of the makeshift bed. "He can't move! His head's all banged up and you all told him to lie still!"

Morrigan narrowed her eyes at the woman. "I said,  _move_. The Grey Warden needs this bed—"

"Morrigan,  _stop_ ," Elissa said in a weak voice. "Just do it on the floor."

Morrigan whirled in time to see Leliana and Alistair start to lower Elissa to the ground, with the noblewoman hissing in pain with each inch.

"Careful!" Morrigan admonished as she stalked back over, shaking her head at the stupidity she was forced to tolerate. She had been about ready to turn over the bed and drop the man to the floor.

Instead she watched as Leliana tenderly placed a hand behind Elissa's head and lowered it gently the rest of the way to the ground. Elissa moaned in pain and winced her eyes shut.

Alistair looked up at her with a pale face when she swatted him on the shoulder. She waved her hand impatiently. "Move!" she said again, and he scrambled off so that Morrigan could kneel down beside Elissa's right side. Leliana sat back on her haunches and held one of Elissa's hands in her own, while Alistair paced fretfully behind her.

"Friendly fire," he muttered, sounding a touch manic. "That's a terrible name for it. . . "

The noblewoman opened her eyes. Morrigan was relieved to see awareness in the woman's gaze. Elissa ignored the Chantry sister and the ex-Templar, staring only at the witch. She spoke painfully slow. "You have to get . . . the arrow . . . out."

"Stop talking," Morrigan snapped yet again. Leliana's head jerked up but before the Chantry sister could deliver her admonishment Morrigan raised a hand and said with a touch more gentleness, "I know what must be done." She glared at Leliana a few seconds until the other woman sat back on her haunches and dropped her gaze. Morrigan turned back to Elissa. "Keep quiet and trust me. This isn't the first time I've plucked an arrow out of you."

Elissa stared at her a few seconds before giving a little nod.

Morrigan drew the silver dagger out of her pocket and sliced through Elissa's tunic. The warden made a hum of disappointment but kept her mouth shut when Morrigan glared pointedly at her. She sliced through Elissa's shirt to expose the wound.

The leather had done its job—it hadn't stopped the arrow, of course, but it had slowed it down a bit. Truthfully Morrigan would have preferred the arrow to sail cleanly through the body and out the other side—if it managed to avoid any organs that was the optimum way for an arrow to leave the body. But, the leather had prevented that, and instead the arrow was embedded about four or five inches beneath the skin.

The question was did the arrow hit tissue, bone, or an internal organ? Elissa's breathing was labored, but her lips hadn't turned blue and she wasn't coughing up blood. If she was lucky, she'd suffered a fractured rib and no other internal organ damage. If Morrigan could manage to remove the arrow Elissa's chances at survival should be quite good.

But that was the big  _if_. Morrigan had never mastered a single creation spell, but she knew a thing or two about arrow wounds. She knew that the most dangerous part of treating the wound was getting the arrow head out. Yanking the arrow out by the shaft would likely leave the metal tip behind, which could pierce her diaphragm and would most certainly lead to a life-threatening infection.

Fortunately she had experience doing just such a thing—about five times before, actually, and all from the same person's chest. Of course, Elissa had been comatose at the time and she'd had Flemeth's healing abilities helping to control the bleeding.

"Grab her arm," she said, motioning to Leliana. She turned around to see Alistair lurking behind her. "You get the other one."

She moved so that she was straddling Elissa as Alistair and Leliana moved into place to comply with her orders. Unwinding a belt from around her waist, Morrigan gave Elissa a significant look. "This will be painful. Quite painful. Here. Bite down on this."

Elissa's brows knit together but she dutifully opened her mouth and let Morrigan place her leather belt inside it before biting down. Her eyes looked up to the ceiling.

With a flick of her wrist she heated her silver dagger to a fiery orange, before another gesture cooled it instantly. Satisfied that it was cleansed, she took a deep breath and placed a hand on Elissa's rib cage. She gave both Leliana and Alistair pointed looks before making a small incision near the entrance wound.

She felt Elissa tense up underneath her but otherwise the warden remained still and didn't make a noise. She knew that wouldn't last.

She set the dagger aside and then, after taking one steadying breath, she started sliding her index finger down the wound in Elissa's side alongside the shaft of the arrow.

Elissa screamed around the leather strap in her mouth, the barrier making the sound strangled and animalistic. The woman would have bucked her off, but Morrigan had at least twenty pounds on her, and Alistair and Leliana did an admirable job of holding her arms and shoulders down. Morrigan ignored the thrashing noblewoman, and kept her eyes trained to a point in the distance, using only her sense of touch to locate the arrow head and determine its orientation.

Her finger was buried in the wound almost up to the knuckle when she finally felt the metal edge of the arrowhead. Elissa's screaming intensified as she pushed deeper into the wound, attempting to determine if the head was embedded in bone or tissue. She ran the pad of her forefinger along the triangular slope of the arrowhead as far as she could go without cutting a deeper incision. Tentatively and slowly, she attempted to curl her finger back toward the surface of the wound.

Elissa finally went still, having apparently passed out from the pain. "What are you  _doing_  to her?" Alistair's voice sounded fearful and ragged.

She didn't bother to answer. The arrowhead moved easily, and with a rush of relief Morrigan steadied her other hand around the shaft of the arrow. She swallowed, finding her throat unexpectedly dry, and managed to gently pull the shaft out of the wound, ensuring that the arrowhead stayed in place by steadying it with her other finger.

With one last gentle tug the arrow shaft and head cleared the wound, and Morrigan let out the breath that she'd been holding. Blood flowed freely from the wound. Morrigan tossed the arrow aside and held a hand to the woman's side. "Bandages, now!"

In an instant, Bella was at her side, fresh clean bandages at the ready, as if she'd been waiting there for the order. Morrigan supposed she might've been, but she'd been too focused on her patient to notice. "Thank you," she said, climbing off of Elissa and pressing the bandages to her side. "Now, hand me one of the large health poultices."

She held out her other hand expectantly, but after a few seconds she looked up quizzically at the other woman. Bella stood wringing her empty hands. "You . . . you said to deliver them."

She stared up at Bela uncomprehendingly before the girl's meaning finally hit her. "Go out and find one that hasn't been finished yet, and bring it back here." The large potions were hard to quaff all in one go. If the wench hurried, she might be able to wrestle one away from another patient. At Bela's widened eyes she added, "now!"

She felt a weak grip on her wrist. "Morrigan . . ."

She whirled back to see Elissa's eyes had cracked open. "You're awake. That's . . . something. Now, stop speaking, and conserve your strength."

She started to rise, but Elissa's hand tightened slightly around her wrist. "Morrigan," she repeated. "Don't."

Alistair brushed his fingers across Elissa's forehead, removing some stray hairs from her eyes. "Shh, Elissa. Save your strength—"

Elissa closed her eyes and gave her head a tiny shake. Even that small movement seemed to tax her, and Morrigan was about to admonish her again when her eyes opened and she said more forcefully, "I won't take a potion meant for someone else."

Morrigan scowled down at the other woman incredulously. "Yes, you  _will_ , if you care at all for saving your own stupid, stubborn hide. Now be quiet and let me handle this."

Elissa still didn't release Morrigan's wrist. Leliana placed a gentle hand on Elissa's, pulling her hand away and freeing Morrigan. "Elissa," she said. "Listen to Morrigan. You need healing—"

Elissa coughed, and then winced at the pain it caused her. She shook her head again. "If I take a potion away from someone else, they might not survive . . ."

Alistair and Leliana shared a troubled glance over Elissa's head, but Morrigan scoffed. "So? Your life is much more important—"

"It is not!" Elissa hissed, lifting herself up by her right elbow. The movement triggered a coughing fit, and she was forced to lie back down, bringing her right hand up to her mouth to cover it as she did. When she took her hand away, there were flecks of blood on her leather glove. Elissa's eyes widened when she saw them, and she tried to move her hand away surreptitiously.

Morrigan grabbed it and pointed at a speck of blood. "See that? You're bleeding internally, and you've lost a lot of blood, too. If you don't get a healing potion I can't guarantee you'll survive through the night!"

"Elissa," Alistair said in a low voice. "Maybe . . . maybe Morrigan is right."

Elissa shook her head again. "I won't save my life at the cost of someone else's," she said, gasping for breath. "I won't. You can't ask me to do that _."_ Her eyes filled with tears as she stared at Alistair. " _Please_."

Alistair's face was wan as he looked first at Elissa and then Morrigan. It was clear from his troubled gaze the fool had no idea what to do. "Can't you . . . I don't know . . . make more potions?" he looked up at Morrigan with a pleading expression.

She fought the urge to smack the stupid Templar. "No! Don't you think we would if we could? We've exhausted my ingredient supply saving the pitiable lives of these fools!" Several heads turned in her direction at her outburst but she ignored them. "This argument is a waste of time!"

She got to her feet and whirled around, almost running into Bella, who was hovering behind her.

The tavern wench looked up apologetically. "Pardon me, but . . . if we need more healing poultices, I know of one place that may have them." She paused, but when Morrigan only glowered at her menacingly she quickly went on. "Lloyd! At the tavern. He always has a few potions on hand—maybe even some elfroot."

"At the tavern?" Morrigan looked around the Chantry sanctuary. "He's still there?"

Bella nodded. "He locks himself in the cellar each night and waits out the fighting." She gave a disgusted snort. "He's a greasy pig, and a coward, but I'm sure he's still alive and has some items in stock."

Leliana joined Morrigan while Bella was speaking. "Then we must go to him and persuade him to help!"

Bella smirked. "Bring some coin with you. He'll be sure to charge extra knowing we need them so badly." Morrigan's lip curled in derision and Bella shrugged. "He's a coward, but he's a greedy coward."

Morrigan turned to Leliana. "Get Elissa in a bed and bandage her up the best you can. I'll go see this Lloyd and . . .  _persuade_  him to provide his supplies."

Leliana nodded at the witch. "Hurry, Morrigan," she said, glancing down at Elissa with a face full of worry.

She turned on her heel to go, but a hand placed on her shoulder made her whirl around. It was Bella, yet again, hovering near her elbow. "What is it  _now_?"

"I'll come with you." She held up a hand as Morrigan started to protest. "I've got a spare key to the cellar and besides, I wouldn't miss this for the world," she finished with a far too cheery grin.

Morrigan stared down at Bella for a few seconds before shrugging her shoulder. "Let us be off then," she said, turning on her heel and racing for the Chantry doors.

* * *

"I think it's kind of sweet how worried you are about your friend."

Morrigan supposed the blessed silence between them as they walked to the tavern was too good to last. "I am  _not_  worried," she said with a frown. "And she is not my friend."

"Oh . . . I . . . didn't realize—"

"She is one of the only two remaining Grey Wardens in all of Ferelden. If she dies, and we're left with that  _fool_  for a leader . . ." She raised an eyebrow and looked down pointedly at Bella, who was at least a head shorter than her. "Then the Blight will surely encompass us all and we will all  _die._ "

Bella's eyes went wide. "Oh," was thankfully all she said.

That apparently quelled whatever urge Bella had to speak, so they made their way to the tavern in more silence, much to Morrigan's delight. It gave her time to contemplate what she'd said. It was true—if Elissa died, they'd likely all be doomed. She frowned as she imagined trying to soldier on with  _Alistair_  of all people, leading their band of misfit outcasts. It was an entirely unpleasant scenario to contemplate.

"Of course, Elissa is the only one in that whole party with any sort of sense," she mused aloud, almost forgetting that Bella was alongside her. "The girl  _is_  uncommonly bright." She gave a deep sigh and shook her head. "If only her head wasn't filled with such foolish sentimental notions, she might survive long enough to end the Blight."

"Well, I think it's kind of brave, actually. And noble—"

"Noble?" In spite of their hurry, Morrigan stopped in her tracks to stare down at the waitress with raised eyebrows. "You think self-sacrifice is  _noble_? I doubt you'll be singing that tune when the darkspawn overtake Redcliffe and destroy everything around you. How is it noble for her to die here and leave the rest of Ferelden to burn?" Bella could only give a small shrug and Morrigan shook her head in disgust. "Foolish, sentimental thinking like that is dangerous and stupid."

If Morrigan had her way, she would disabuse Elissa of all such notions.

She admired Elissa's mind, it was true. When the girl wasn't under the sway of her emotions, she could be quite cold and practical. The problem was that Elissa was much more tenderhearted than most of her companions could see or gave her credit for. She hid it under a veneer of rationality and logic, but it didn't fool Morrigan. She knew that in spite of Elissa's claims the girl was affected unduly by her empathy for the suffering of others. It was something about the warden she loathed, but she also knew Alistair's influence only made it worse.

Bella didn't say anything so she resumed walking up the steep hill that led to Redcliffe's tavern. Finally, they reached the slanted doors that led down below the building and into the cellar.

The waitress bent over and knocked sharply on the wood several times. "Lloyd! Lloyd, open up! It's me." She waited but there was no response. She rapped again. "Come on, Lloyd, open up! The battle's over and I need to talk to you. I know you're in there."

They heard a shuffling coming from behind the cellar doors. Finally, they heard a muffled voice. "How do I know it's really you?"

Bella gave an exasperated sigh. "You think the walking corpses do impersonations now? Look Lloyd, we're coming in. Just don't attack us or anything." After a few more seconds of silence she added, "You know I have a key, right?"

The voice on other other end hesitated for a few seconds before finally huffing out a breath. "Alright, fine! Give me a second . . ."

They heard the lock turn and then the cellar door swung open. A fat man holding a lantern peered up at them. He raised the lantern to get a better look, and his eyes went wide when they landed on Morrigan. She sneered down at him.

"What do you want?" he asked fearfully.

"We need some poultices to treat the injured back at the Chantry. You know, your fellow townsfolk. The ones you let fight in your place?"

Morrigan raised an eyebrow at the venom in Bella's voice, her mouth curving into an approving smile all on its own.

The dimwitted barkeep blinked up at the two women. He took a deep breath and then let it out in an exasperated sigh. "Well, I was keeping them just in case, but seeing the situation . . ." He peered up at them shrewdly. "I've got one of the large poultices and a couple of the smaller vials."

"Do you have any elfroot in stock?"

The man nodded and Morrigan could see the calculations the man was making behind his eyes. "Got half a dozen sprigs of elfroot, too." He looked up at her with a wide smile. "I'll sell you the lot for a sovereign."

Bella sputtered in shock beside her. "Lloyd! That's highway robbery and you know it." She turned to Morrigan. "He normally would charge about twenty silver for all that. He's trying to take advantage—"

Morrigan raised a hand to stop the wench from continuing. "'Tis only natural that he should seek to profit from this," she said evenly. "I daresay most would do the same if the situation were reversed." She could see the fat man's grin spread even wider at that, clearly happy that she wasn't offended. She let her own grin spread across her face, feeling her upper lip curl into a feral sort of smirk. "Now, let me make my counter offer."

Lloyd's smile faltered. "Alright . . ."

"My offer is this: you give me the potions, elfroot, and any other useful supplies you have on stock for free." She leaned forward and sneered. "And I refrain from lighting your tavern on fire with you in it."

Lloyd stared up at her in disbelief for a few seconds, before looking between Bella and Morrigan rapidly, his jowls shaking in fear. "Now wait just a minute—"

"That is my final offer, I'm afraid. And it's only on the table for three more seconds . . ." She held out her hand and summoned a tiny ball of fire just above it, swirling her fingers suggestively. "One . . ."

The fat man gaped at her. "You've got to be kidding—"

"Two."

Bella looked at Morrigan in alarm, before turning to Lloyd and shouting. "Just give her the damn potions, you idiot!"

Lloyd threw up his hands in defeat. "Alright, alright!" he said. "I'll give it all to you. Just please . . . leave my tavern alone."

He disappeared back down the steps to retrieve the items and Morrigan let the fireball extinguish with a sputter. Bella let out a breath. "You weren't really going to set his tavern on fire, were you?"

Morrigan shrugged. "After I got the ingredients, perhaps."

Bella's eyes widened and she moved back a step. "Right," she said, drawing out the word.

Lloyd appeared, holding a cloth sack that tinkled with the sound of glass vials when he moved it. He handed it to Morrigan. "That's all the potions and elfroot I have, plus I threw in a couple of injury kits," he said, nervously licking his lips. "Are we good?"

Morrigan took the sack and peered into it. After a few seconds she looked up at the bartender with narrowed eyes. "Do you have anything else that could be useful to us?" she asked, letting her gaze travel over the man's shaking figure. "Think carefully . . ."

The man fumbled with something in his pocket. "Here!" he said, thrusting his fist up at Morrigan. "Take this ring! I don't know what it does but I know it's enchanted." He dropped a small gold ring into Morrigan's open palm.

She brought it closer to her face. It was a golden band that had what looked like a thread of some blue substance engraved on its surface into delicate runes. Morrigan could feel the hum of the enchantment embedded into the metal. She smiled down at the bauble, before looking at the tavern owner. "Pleasure doing business with you," she said with mock sweetness, before turning on her heel and heading back to the Chantry, smiling to herself at the man's sputtering answer.

* * *

"I like the way you think."

"Do you though?"

Morrigan paused outside the Revered Mother's private chambers. When she'd arrived back at the Chantry she'd learned from Leliana that the Chantry woman had offered up her own bedroom for Elissa's recovery. She'd hurried through the winding corridor to the last room on the right, but in spite of the danger, the hushed voices inside had made her pause.

"What do you mean?" Alistair spoke quietly, but the room must have been a small one, for Morrigan was able to hear every word. Not really knowing why, she flattened herself against the wall and listened.

"Well." Elissa cleared her throat. "Earlier today . . . I'm not quite sure if you were being rude or polite."

Morrigan frowned. There was something in Elissa's tone she'd never quite heard before—a nervous sort of candor that sounded utterly foreign coming out of Elissa's mouth. She shifted slightly and leaned over to try and get a glimpse in the room without being seen.

A small bed lay against the far wall of the bedroom. Morrigan couldn't see Elissa's face, but she could see that the noblewoman lay on her back on the bed, and that Alistair had pulled up a chair alongside it. He leaned forward. "Well I'm sure I didn't mean to be rude," he said lowly, his voice filled with that teasing tone he often took with Elissa. Morrigan despised it.

"I'm rather hoping you were." She heard Elissa take another deep breath. "I paid you a . . . compliment, you see. I said that I liked you for who you were and not just who your father was."

Elissa coughed and Morrigan looked guiltily down at the health poultice in her hand. She really should get in there and deliver it, but the wardens' conversation had turned rather intriguing.

_Just who was Alistair's father anyway?_

"Right," Alistair said, warmly. "I remember."

There was a few seconds of silence, and Morrigan wondered if Elissa had fallen unconscious, but then the noblewoman spoke again in what sounded like a nervous rush of breath. "Yes well, typically when one receives a compliment of that nature, the polite thing to do is respond in kind."

She could hear Alistair shift in his chair, but Elissa went on in another rush. "Of course, that's only if the sentiment is truly reciprocated. Otherwise, the only polite thing to do is . . . remain silent."

Morrigan could not possibly roll her eyes any harder. What did Elissa care if the Templar liked her or not? What a  _ridiculous_ question.

And yet, she found herself frozen there, awaiting Alistair's response.

"You . . . you want to know if I like you?" The incredulity in Alistair's voice made Morrigan want to smack him on the back of the head. By the void, was he ever  _stupid . . ._

Elissa coughed again. "Well, I . . . it's not . . . it's not a  _necessity_  that we be friends, of course. I am still quite capable of performing my duty as a Grey Warden regardless of how you feel. But of course . . ." She swallowed audibly. "I mean . . . it would perhaps make thing easier . . ."

She heard Alistair lean forward. "Elissa, you're  _impossible_." He waited abeat. "Of course I like you."

Morrigan's lip curled at the audible sigh of relief Elissa emitted at  _that_. "Oh? Oh. Well, that's . . . as I said it's not  _necessary_  but it . . . it does make things easier if we get along doesn't it?"

In spite of Elissa's efforts to sound calm and composed, Morrigan could hear the smile in the other woman's voice. It made something in her stomach twist in disgust that Elissa would let the regard of a bumbling idiot like Alistair affect her so.

Still . . . she had more information than she did yesterday, and some of it might be useful at a later date. It left her with an odd and empty feeling to contemplate manipulating Elissa's emotions in such a way, but she shook it off. It had been a long day of saving foolish people from their own stupidity. She was done with such futility.

Taking a deep breath and feeling better armed than she had all day, Morrigan stepped into the private bedchamber and interrupted the two blushing wardens.

"Congratulations," she said with a sneer. "Your stupidity won't cost you your life . . . at least not tonight."


	20. Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elissa struggles to keep her emotions under control as they head into the castle.

_Keep my eyes open  
_ _My lips sealed  
_ _My heart closed  
_ _And my ears peeled_ __  


— _Hurricane_ , MS MR

Logically Elissa knew that the likelihood that the secret passageway that ran under Lake Calenhad between the windmill in Redcliffe and the Castle's dungeons would choose this precise day and time to collapse on top of their heads was slim to none. She knew this, and yet she still felt raw and unnerved, and at the edge of her patience after only a few minutes of trekking through the dark tunnel.

Truth be told, it wasn't just the oppressive darkness of the damp passageway weighing on the young warden's mind. The exhaustion that she'd come to recognize as a new permanent factor of her existence had only intensified after last night's battle. She had fallen asleep easily, and no darkspawn dreams troubled her, but Morrigan had woken her at every odd hour to quaff more healing potions throughout the night.

She was thankful for the swamp witch's skill, and just a little resentful that all the fuss had only been an issue because Morrigan hadn't bothered to learn a single spell of healing in her entire career as a mage. Her gratitude had stopped her from pointing out this fact so far, however.

"Elissa." Alistair's voice rumbled into her ear from surprisingly close beside her. She kept her eyes trained on her feet lest she slip on the wet rock. "Are you alright?"

The warm concern in his voice touched her, and she risked a sidelong look up at him to offer a quick smile. "I'm fine," she said, turning back to study her feet. "Morrigan . . . took adequate care of me."

"You're  _most_  welcome," Morrigan said, without turning around. She walked in front of them beside Leliana, and Sten and her hound, Prince, were at the head of their little caravan. Morrigan had summoned three wisps who hovered just over each pair's head and provided the only light in the underground tunnel. They were like three little islands of light in a sea of darkness.

Elissa shrugged at Morrigan's back and heard Alistair snort out a little laugh. Feeling just a touch guilty for getting a laugh at Morrigan's expense, she risked another glance at him, surprised at the warm feeling in her chest his laughter elicited.

But as she looked at him his face grew serious, and after a beat he stopped walking and she stopped and faced him. "No, I don't just mean your injuries," he said. "I mean just . . . in general." He put a hand on her shoulder. "I know this morning was rough," he finished lowly.

Elissa lowered her head and looked at her feet, a wave of embarrassment washing over her. That morning's funeral service had been unexpectedly difficult. She couldn't quite explain it. Although the deaths were regrettable, she didn't truly mourn the dead of Redcliffe enough to warrant the volume of tears that had sprung to her eyes while the Revered Mother spoke.

Watching so many people put on their visceral displays of grief had opened up something inside her that she normally tried to keep tightly hidden, she supposed. She had been powerless to fight the tears that streamed down her cheeks, but even though she'd hated every second of her public show of weakness, she did not let herself bend her head to hide her tears. She kept it held high and let them all see her for what she was: a broken, grieving soul just like them.

It had an effect on the villagers, apparently. After the ceremony she'd been surrounded by grateful citizens, all eager to shake her hand and shed more tears in her presence. The whole experience had left her nerves feeling tight and raw, and she fled as soon as she was able to. Of course, Alistair had been there for it all.

"I'm fine," she said, voice cracking a bit. She swallowed and tried again, keeping her eyes trained on her feet. "I'm not going to break down in the middle of a fight or anything, if that's what you're worried about."

He kept his hand on her shoulder, and then reached over and touched her chin gently with his other hand, lifting it slightly so that she was forced to meet his gaze. "That's not what I'm worried about," he said quietly. "I'm just worried about  _you_."

Her breath did something strange and confusing in her throat, and she found herself unable to speak until he removed his hands to cross his arms in front of him. She lowered her head again, feeling the flush that had to be brightening her cheeks. "That's very kind of you," she said, hating the sudden woodenness that'd crept into her tone. "But I assure you, I'm fine."

She saw his feet shift slightly and heard the deep sigh he emitted. "Right."

The flatness of his tone made something inside her twist with guilt. But almost as strong and just as quickly her anger flared to life. What did he want from her anyway? The truth?

_"Elissa, you're impossible," he said, that infuriating little smirk on his lips. "Of course I like you."_

It had filled her with a rush of warmth and gratitude and a curious amount of nervousness to learn that despite how terribly difficult she knew she could be Alistair had seemed to accept her—flaws and all.

She supposed a little truth might not be so out of the question.

"I'm not fine," she breathed out in a rush, coming to a sudden decision and looking up to meet his gaze again.

His brow furrowed in concern. "What—"

She held up a hand to stop him from asking whatever it was he planned to ask. "I'm not fine. I'm  _never_  fine. I don't know if I'll ever be fine again." Her voice shook unexpectedly at that last part and she scowled and tried to will herself not to cry. She would  _not_ crack again. Not twice in one day.

"But—"

"But I can't stop to think about that. I can't . . . talk about it. I just . . . I just need to focus on what's in front of me. Do you understand?"

His gaze had softened noticeably during her little speech. "I think I do, actually," he said warmly.

She felt the knot in her shoulders relax a bit at his understanding tone, and she breathed an audible sigh of relief. "Thank you."

The stood there for a few seconds, smiling at each other until Elissa felt her cheeks start to grow warm yet again.  _Maker's might, what was going on with her?_

She cleared her throat and started walking. "Great," she said forcefully. "Let's just . . . keep going."

They walked a few minutes in blessed silence, until Alistair cleared his throat and spoke again. "So, speaking of what's in front of us, even I could see that Lady Isolde wasn't telling us everything."

"Right," she said distractedly, trying to pick her path carefully. It was particularly wet in this area of the tunnel. Elissa had to assume they were at least halfway to the castle by now . . . probably under the deepest part of the lake. She swallowed—her throat unreasonably dry. "Actually, that's not right," she went on, trying to focus on something,  _anything_  other than the tons of water sloshing around innocently above their heads. "She really did tell us almost everything, unfortunately."

Alistair barked out a laugh. "I knew it! I knew you had something. I could just tell. You got that  _look_."

"What look?" she said, aiming for an incredulous tone but sounding more amused than anything.

"It's kind of like this," he said, and then froze in his tracks. His mouth gaped open at something behind her. She whirled to look but could see nothing beyond the small circle of wisp light and the tunnel wall. Alistair's strangled laugh brought her attention back to him. At her confused look, he breathed out, "I was doing the  _look_!"

She realized her mistake and tried to feel annoyed at his laughter, crossing her arms and scowling up at him. The effect was rather ruined, however, by the way her lips kept twitching into a smile.

He shot her an amused grin in response, and Elissa had to marvel at how the man could seem utterly naive and shy one moment, and then so confident and cocksure the next. "Alright," he said, still chuckling. "Let me try again."

He looked off in the distance with a sort of dazed expression, mouth hanging wide open.

She didn't have to fake the incredulity anymore. "I do not look like that!" she sputtered. "I do not  _gape_!"

He was as immune to her righteous indignation as always. He just shot her another crooked grin and said "Well, you wear it better, I'll give you that," in a low, throaty tone that made her eyes grow wide.

Mercifully the Maker chose Morrigan as His unlikely instrument to save her from having to stammer incoherently at Alistair's wry little smirk. "Will you two quit dawdling and hurry up?" she snapped, suddenly appearing in their sphere of light. "We're here."

Elissa hurried forward, trying to put Alistair completely out of her mind in order to focus. In a few steps she saw that Morrigan told the truth. They'd made it to the other side of the lake, and now had to make their way up a steep staircase that had been carved into the stone.

They fell silent as they climbed, until she felt a finger poke her side. "So, don't keep me in suspense. What did you deduce about the arlessa?"

Her stomach twisted into a little knot again and she frowned. "Nothing good," she said grimly.

That was one of the other issues pressing into Elissa's consciousness. Her conversation with the arlessa, coupled with what Leliana had learned second-hand from the blacksmith's daughter, had given her enough information to piece together a theory or two about what might be going on in the castle.

It wasn't a pretty picture, and for once she'd kept quiet, not really wanting to bring it up with Alistair. As far as she could tell, the arlessa and her son were some of the only people he could count as any sort of family.

She knew he harbored resentment toward the arlessa, and she could understand why, though her rational mind also understood where the arlessa must have been coming from as well. Of course, it was harder to see the woman's point of view after she'd actually _met_  her, and been on the receiving end of her haughty disdain. It had made her feel vaguely self-conscious, in truth, and that was reason enough to dislike the woman. Of course, once she knew what was going on . . .

"Elissa?" Alistair's voice cut into her ruminations, and she gave herself a little shake.

She took a deep breath, realizing that whether she told them or not, they would all find out rather soon, anyway. "So it's fairly clear that the mage who poisoned the arl was the same tutor Leliana learned about from the blacksmith," she said, forgoing some of her usual preamble, not finding this reveal particularly fun. "You know what that means."

She heard Alistair pause on the step behind her, and turned to look at him.

He face bore a rather shocked, scandalized expression. "The arlessa is sleeping with a mage?"

In spite of everything, she couldn't help the laughter that erupted from her at that, and soon Morrigan joined in. "Idiot," the swamp witch said after a beat.

Before Alistair could lash back in response, Elissa placed a hand on his shoulder and asked patiently. "Why might Isolde need a mage to tutor Connor?"

He stared at her blankly for a few seconds, and then she saw comprehension dawn. "Connor? A mage? I can't believe it!"

Standing on the step in front of him allowed her to be at eye level with him, for once. His eyes were still wide in surprise.  _Were they brown or were they a warm amber? They seemed to change with his mood._ "That's my guess," she said evenly, taking her hand away.

Alistair rubbed his neck, still looking dumbstruck. "Wow. The arlessa . . . she's pretty pious . . ."

"So having a mage for a son would be particularly humiliating," Elissa finished for him.

He nodded at this and looked to the side, thoughtfully, and she found herself studying his features by the light of the little wisp. He was quite handsome, she realized, somehow more so now than when she'd first met him, though that made no sense at all. She frowned as she studied him. No, he was objectively handsome, she decided, letting her eyes wander over his strong jaw and full mouth. She must have been too consumed with grief to notice it before, she realized. Now though, she was more capable of making such an observation.

But that's all that it was—an objective assessment, she told herself, frowning and looking away before he could catch her staring.

He turned back to her with a start. "So, do you think Connor might've . . . summoned a demon? Or something?"

She took a deep breath. "That's . . . certainly a theory," she said, before looking up at him with a sad frown. "Or he's become an abomination," she said quietly.

Alistair blinked at her in surprise and then set his mouth into a grim line. "We'll find out soon enough, I'd wager."

"Right," Elissa muttered, and turned to finish climbing the set of stairs.

When she finally made it to the top she found Leliana already crouched by a massive wooden door, working on the lock with her picks.

"Teagan might've tossed us the key to this door, don't you think?" Alistair said amiably as he made it to the top of the stairs.

"It is of no consequence," Leliana said in a sing-song voice, hopping to her feet as they all heard a loud click and the heavy door swung open.

Nearly half of the sconces in Castle Redcliffe's dungeon were left unlit, and yet the torchlight seemed unbearably bright as they filed into the lower reaches of the fortress, forcing them to squint into the dungeon gloom.

Elissa felt like she could breathe again as they all began walking down the hall toward a row of cells at the other end. The darkened squalor of the dungeon was somehow infinitely better than the oppressively dark tunnel.

"Help!" They all heard a high pitched voice cry out, and in a moment Prince was barking wildly and rushing toward the end of the hall, Sten right behind him, heading to a group of walking corpses gathered around a single cell. " _Help_!"

Leliana rushed into the fray, while Morrigan planted her feet and began her casting. Elissa reached over her shoulder to draw her crossbow, but seeing Leliana, Prince, and Sten already engaged with the creatures, she realized shooting into their midst would not be wise. With a grimace, she drew her dagger and family sword from the sheaths at her hips and ran after Alistair, biting down her trepidation and hoping that the training Leliana had provided her was enough.

Whether it was her enthusiasm or skill, Elissa didn't really know, but she found it quite easy to contribute to the fight by sticking her sword or dagger into the backs of the corpses otherwise engaged in fighting somebody else. It was surprisingly satisfying, plunging her weapon into another creature and seeing it fall by her hand—it felt visceral and real in a way that ranged combat never did.

They felled the last creature and Elissa looked up, panting, wondering if anyone would note her new and improved participation in melee combat. Of course, they were all panting too, and before anyone could speak, a voice rang out from the nearest cell.

"Hello? Who's there? Is there anyone alive out there?"

They turned as one to regard the figure in the cell before them. He was a young man, probably not much older than Elissa, with brown-black hair and a long, horsey face. Elissa immediately noted the robes he wore—filthy and ragged as they were.

_Here is the apostate that poisoned the arl._

"Wait," he said, stepping closer to the bars. "You don't look like the arlessa's guards. Are you from outside the castle?"

Before anyone else could respond Elissa darted to the front of the cell, grabbing the bar at shoulder height and narrowing her eyes at the man. "Tell me,  _mage_. How exactly did Teyrn Loghain find out the arlessa's son had magic?"

The mage trembled at her hostility, backing away from the cell door. "Wh-what? You . . . you've spoken to the arlessa?" His voice rose an octave in fear and his adam's apple bobbed up and down in his throat. He took a steadying breath. "Then you know what I did."

Elissa sighed impatiently. "Yes. Teyrn Loghain . . . or was it Arl Howe? Obviously hired you to infiltrate he castle and poison the arl. What I want to know is: how did Loghain know Connor was a mage?"

"I don't know!" the man cried, holding up his hands as if in surrender. "He just . . . did. He didn't tell me how he found out."

Elissa blinked up at the apostate a few seconds before leaning into the bars. "You spoke to the Teyrn directly?"

"Yes," the mage nodded sadly. "When the templars caught me, they brought me to Denerim to await execution."

Elissa started at his confession. The circle didn't just execute ordinary apostates, did they? The mage went on, oblivious to her suspicious glare. "Eventually, someone came to see me, alone. It was the teyrn. I'd seen paintings of him, so I knew. I thought he'd have me executed right there, but he said I could make up for my crime. He said I would be helping the country!"

Elissa leaned back a fraction of an inch from the cell door. "What crime were you guilty of?"

She wouldn't have thought it possible, but he managed to look even more mournful. "You see, I'm a maleficar: a blood mage."

Elissa backed away from the cell door as if it'd grown hot. Her throat constricted and she felt on the verge of a sudden and intense panic.  _A blood mage_. Her own blood pounded in her ears at the news, and she was gripped by a sudden and all consuming fear.

Blood mages lied. Blood mages made deals with demons to gain their powers. But most of all, blood mages could  _control your mind._

Morrigan scoffed in disbelief. "You? A blood mage? Truly? I would never have guessed." Elissa couldn't tell whether she was being sarcastic or not.

"A blood mage!" Alistair exclaimed. "Well, that isn't good."

"I dabbled in the forbidden arts, and they condemned me to death for it. I thought Loghain was giving me a chance to . . . redeem myself . . ." The mage grew emboldened in his despair, and stepped up to the bars to grip them. "But he's abandoned me here, hasn't he?" His eyes darted among them, making him look a bit like a cornered animal. "Everything's fallen apart, and I'm responsible! I have to make it right somehow, I have to!"

At that Elissa's eyes narrowed. "You're the cause of all this? What did you do? Tear the veil? Summon a demon?"

The mage shook his head frantically. "I . . . I know it looks suspicious, but I'm not responsible for the creatures and the killings in the castle. I was already imprisoned here when all that began. She . . . had me tortured," the mage whispered hoarsely. "There was nothing I could do or say that would—"

"Just how much magic did you teach Connor?" Elissa snapped, uncomfortable at the naked horror on the young man's face. He was a  _maleficar_ , she reminded herself, and thus had likely earned every punishment he'd received.

The mage blinked up at her and then shrugged. "Some. But he's still very young. He can barely cast a minor spell—never mind something more powerful." His brows knit together. "At least, not intentionally," he added.

Elissa scowled up at the forlorn looking mage. "So is your contention that it is the  _child_  who is responsible for raising the dead? That he tore the veil?"

"No!" the mage said, voice cracking in fear. Then his shoulders slumped. "Well, I mean, I don't really know," he said. "It's possible he may have done something to tear open the Veil. With the Veil to the Fade torn, spirits and demons could infiltrate the castle. Powerful ones could kill and create those walking corpses."

Elissa glared at the mage for a few moments, trying to ascertain whether the young man was telling the truth. He certainly sounded sincere, but his ready admission to blood magic left her wary of trusting any word he spoke. For all she knew, this was all a part of some larger plot.

But the lost-looking sap in front of her didn't seem to be at all capable of orchestrating a complicated plan.

She frowned at the disheveled man. "I see. I think I understand."

"I never meant for it to end like this. I swear. Let me help you fix this." His grey-green eyes glanced at each of them, desperation evident in their depths.

Elissa took a deep breath, trying to prepare herself for what surely had to be done. But before she could say anything, Morrigan piped up from behind her.

"I say this boy could still be of use to us," she said adamantly, before shrugging a shoulder. "But if not, then let him go. Why keep him prisoner here?"

Elissa opened her mouth to retort but Alistair beat her to it. "Hey, hey!" he said, voice rising in agitation. "Let's not forget he's a blood mage! You can't just . . . set a blood mage free!"

Morrigan took a step toward the templar. "Better to  _slay_  him? Better to punish him for his  _choices_? Is this Alistair who speaks, or the templar?"

Alistair's eyes narrowed, but before he could respond, Sten's voice rumbled out. "I say kill the mage. He cannot be trusted."

Elissa took a deep breath, ready to thank Sten for his reasonable statement, but Alistair chimed in before she could speak. "He doesn't need to  _die_  surely!"

Her head snapped back to Alistair, surprised at his waffling.

"He wishes to redeem himself . . . doesn't everyone deserve that chance?" Leliana asked.

Elissa felt her eyebrows climb her forehead, astonished that Leliana was being so transparent. She was about to ask whether she was speaking for herself or the maleficar, but Morrigan spoke up instead, sneering out "Like  _yourself_ , you mean?"

Elissa blinked in surprise at Morrigan's tone, wondering how much the witch had figured out of Leliana's past.

Leliana flushed, but she would not be so easily dissuaded. She turned to Alistair, beseeching him to agree with her with her pleading look. "Everyone deserves a chance to redeem themselves in the Maker's eyes; this man no less than any," she said passionately.

Elissa rolled her eyes; Leliana's convictions were all fine and dandy for  _her_ , but she wasn't about to let them stand in the way of the only rational decision—

"I don't know," Alistair said, looking at Leliana doubtfully. "He _is_  a blood mage . . . but this is an unusual situation."

She wanted to strangle him for his capitulation in the face of Leliana's obvious manipulation.

"Give me a chance, please!" the mage's plaintive voice interrupted their heated discussion.

"Enough!" Elissa snapped, whirling to face the mage. She'd made her decision, and the others would just have to deal with it. "I can't leave you here alive."

Leliana gasped, but Morrigan spoke first. " _Why_  can you not?" she asked heatedly. "Must he be destroyed simply for what he is?"

Elissa turned to gape at Morrigan. "What he  _is_  is a confessed maleficar and an attempted murderer. I'd say that's reason enough to die."

Morrigan looked at her, and for the first time since they'd met she saw genuine distress in the other's normally practiced indifferent gaze. It quickly passed, replaced with a hardened stare. "I see," she said icily. "So be it."

She didn't look at Leliana and Alistair as she turned toward the cell. She heard them shift behind her, but neither said a word or made a move to stop her as she drew her dagger.

The blood mage gulped at the flash of steel. "I understand, and . . . I accept it." She knew she shouldn't, but she met the man's gaze. He looked defeated and resigned to his fate, and shuffled up to the bars, leaning his head against them. "Do . . . do what you have to."

Elissa gripped her dagger and stared at the mage in front of her, feeling as if her legs were petrified tree trunks. She licked her lips and tried to visualize the strike she could take to enact an instant killing blow.

After a few seconds, she let out the breath she'd been holding, swearing under her breath. "I can't kill you."

"Thank the maker!" Leliana cried as Elissa sheathed her dagger and took a step backward.

Her mind was a whirlwind. Killing the blood mage was the safest thing to do, she knew, and the most rational. Except . . . maybe it wasn't. She frowned down at her feet. Was it possible that her fear was leading her to make a rash decision?

She had to concede that it was possible. So the mage would be allowed to live. For now.

He finally looked up and seemed to understand that his death wasn't seconds away. "Then . . . what? What do you want me to do?"

"You'll stay where you are for now," Elissa said quickly, and then narrowed her eyes. "After this is over, I expect you to make a full confession, in  _writing_ , about yours and the Teyrn's involvement in the attempted murder of Arl Eamon."

"Of course!" He gave a little laugh. "But no one is going to take the word of a blood mage seriously."

"Obviously," she said with a scowl. "But you'll leave the statement nonetheless." It would provide a useful starting point for them to corroborate the man's story, and it might lead to someone who knew more.

"Then I will wait," the blood mage said, nodding. "If you change your mind, I will be here."

Elissa nodded her silent response, before turning away from him to face the rest of the party. She saw on each of their faces some measure of disappointment in how she'd handled the encounter with the maleficar.

She bit back the rising irritation in her chest and waved a hand dismissively at the lot of them. "Well! Let us continue," she snapped, before turning on her heel and heading for the stairs that lead to the rest of the castle, unsettled enough by the reaction of her companions to make a determined vow that this incident with the mage be the very last time today that she let her emotions get the better of her.


	21. Choose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair is surprised at Elissa's reaction to finding out the truth about Connor.

_Depending on your state of mind,  
_ _it could go either way for you  
_ _You're either standing in the shoes  
_ _of a genius or a fool._ __  


— _Genius or a Fool_ , Jonatha Brooke

"I'm sorry. I  _had_  to have misheard you. Because it sounded like you said _'we can't kill the demon_.'" Alistair couldn't keep his voice from rising at that last part.

Elissa put a hand on his chest. "Shh!" she said, bringing a finger to her lips and angling around him to peek into the main hall. "They'll hear you."

"Sorry," he whispered, trying to ignore the way his heartbeat sped up when she leaned into him. Elissa had some . . . idiosyncrasies when it came to invading his personal space. Not that he was complaining, of course, but this particular moment was not a good one for him to focus on his developing crush on his fellow warden. "What do you mean, we can't kill the demon?"

She still had her hand on his chest as she leaned back to shoot him an exasperated look. "Do you listen at  _all_  when other people speak? Or are you just constantly making wisecracks in that handsome head of yours?" She removed her hand from his chest to wave it dismissively at his head.

He stared at her, momentarily tripped up by the word  _handsome._  "I listen!" he said aloud, trying to sound indignant. He knew Elissa had some point to make here—she always did—but Maker help him, he couldn't see it on his own. "I just . . . don't see how  _not_ killing the demon will solve anything."

"It doesn't," she said agreeably, before putting her hand to her chin and looking off in the distance in thought. "I wonder if it could be reasoned with? Of course, if  _I_  were a mage  _I_  could be the one to go in the Fade and negotiate . . ."

At first when Elissa had told Teagan that she and Alistair needed to speak in private he had wondered if it didn't make them look weak or indecisive—now that he heard what she had to say he was beyond thankful that they didn't have an audience. He sputtered in outraged confusion. "Ne- _negotiate_? You want to  _negotiate_  with a demon?"

Elissa shrugged. "Well, if I thought it wanted anything we were willing to give . . . maybe. But I doubt that's true." She shook her head wistfully.

Alistair pinched the bridge of his nose. "Elissa," he said, trying to sound as patient as possible. "Will you please explain . . . whatever it is you're trying to say."

She rolled her eyes and heaved dramatically, like she always did when she felt she had to explain something painfully obvious. "Connor made a deal with a demon to keep his father alive. What do you think will happen to that deal if we kill the demon?"

He felt his throat constrict at the thought. The idea of Eamon dying was obviously a terrifying one, but, what else could they do? He blew out a loud breath. "Yeah, I know that's a risk, but I don't see how we have much choice."

"There is always a choice! And in this case, we have the choice of doing nothing."

Alistair gaped at her. "Arl Eamon's important, but we can't just let this demon go on terrorizing everyone."

Elissa shook her head silently for a few seconds, and Alistair felt his heart in his throat again. Surely she had to listen to reason.

"Listen, if you're worried about . . . look, it doesn't have to be  _you_  that does it." Her head snapped up and she peered at him sharply. He gave a little shrug. "I was trained as a Templar. I don't relish the idea, either, but . . . I'll do it. You won't have to."

He hadn't really planned on saying the words until they were out, but once they were, he was surprised at the rush of protectiveness he felt for her. He hadn't proven all that effective at keeping Elissa safe since he'd met her, and he supposed that wasn't really his role anyhow, but he could keep  _this_  task from her at least.

She gaped at him disbelievingly. "You think I'm saying this because I don't want to kill a child? That's just . . . first of all, we wouldn't even  _do_  that. If we were going to do either of these options we'd do the ritual."

Alistair simply couldn't keep his jaw shut at that little admission. How was it they could both witness the same set of facts and circumstances and come to such separate and opposite conclusions? "Are you  _kidding_  me? You think  _more_  blood magic is the solution? How can you even say that?"

"She wants to sacrifice herself to save her son." She closed her eyes and a flicker of pain crossed her features before she opened them again. "Believe me, I'm in  _no_  position to deny her that."

He wasn't sure what that meant, but he wasn't willing to push the issue either, what with that haunted look Elissa had in her eyes. The two of them had grown closer over the last couple of days, but he knew better than to push when she displayed this specific kind of vulnerability—the kind that seem driven by very recent painful memories. There was an unspoken rule between them not to speak of either of their losses, so he didn't ask what she meant, as much as he might've wanted to.

He gave a deep sigh and tried to calm his ragged breathing. "Alright." He had to remember who Elissa was, after all. Ever since Ostagar, he'd promised himself not to doubt her again. He took a deep breath and tried to think. "So, we can't kill the demon." He gulped, feeling his throat go dry again. "What's your plan?"

"Oh!" She looked up at him in hopeful surprise. "Well . . . convincing you not to kill the demon was step one." She paused. "I . . . haven't really gotten much farther than that."

" _Elissa_!"

"Give me a second to think, would you?" she said, rubbing the back of her neck and frowning at the floor in concentration.

Alistair opened his mouth, and then snapped it closed, watching how Elissa's brow knit together. She got this little line between her eyebrows that was actually sort of adorable, now that he thought about it, whenever she was really lost in thought. He caught himself grinning as he stared at her and then shook his head, disgusted with himself for the distraction.

He crossed his arms to his chest and looked down the hall. They'd left the main gates wide open when they'd finally staggered into the castle from the courtyard, after their harrowing encounter with the Revenant. He peered down the darkened hall to the sunlit entrance, frowning as he tried to think of some solution. "There has to be  _something_ we can do," he said, feeling helpless. "There has to be some way to save the arl."

They stood there for a few seconds in defeated silence, until Elissa gave a small shrug of her shoulder.

"Maybe if Morrigan had any healing ability . . ." she started to say, but drifted off. "But even if she did, we'd still need another mage to enter the fade." She leaned against the wall, crossing her arms across her chest. "You know, sometimes I think . . . maybe we should have gone to Kinloch Hold first." She looked up at the ceiling. "Of course, then we probably would have arrived too late to Redcliffe to help."

He narrowed his eyes at the arch of light coming from the main gates. It suddenly struck him how you could see the Circle Tower from Redcliffe's beach on a clear day. "You know, it's too bad we couldn't just sail over to the Circle and ask for help," he said quietly, almost to himself. Then he instantly straightened. "Hey actually . . . why  _couldn't_  we go to the Circle for help?"

Elissa turned to regard him with wide eyes, and her mouth slowly formed into a perfect little "O".

He started grinning to himself. "Hey,  _yeah!_  I mean, they'd have lyrium at the Circle, right? So we could do the ritual without blood magic." Elissa simply blinked at him in surprise. He frowned with a sudden thought. "But, actually, that doesn't really solve anything," he said, shaking his head in disappointment. "I mean, we still have the whole demon deal to contend with."

One of Elissa's eyebrows shot up and her eyes went impossibly wide. "They have  _healers_  at the Circle," she said in a breathy whisper. " _Spirit_  healers . . . they might be able to shield the Arl . . ." she trailed off, her mouth hanging open and slowly forming into the most astonished smile he thought he'd ever be likely to see on Elissa's face.

He felt his own grin start to grow even wider, before he checked himself with another frown. "Do you think they'd even do it, though? It's a bit much to ask . . ."

She gave a loud, sharp,  _maniacal-sounding_ cackle at that, and then slapped a hand over her mouth to quiet herself. "Have you read these treaties? They are  _delightfully_  vague in their wording!  _Yes_ , they will do it. Trust me on that."

There was a distant part of him that found it deeply amusing that she was  _this_  excited over vague wording in an ancient contract. But that was all just . . . perfectly Elissa, and he couldn't help getting swept up in her enthusiasm. "Do you really think we can do this?" he asked. "Just . . . leave them here and run off to the Circle for help?"

She looked around, still with the maniacal grin on her face, before returning her gaze to Alistair and shooting a smile at him. "Yes I do," she said, in a low, breathless tone that set his heartbeat racing again.

It sped up even further when she stepped up to him, closing the distance between them in a few steps. "Alistair," she said, reaching out to grip his shoulders. "You  _did_  it!" He could only stare down at her in wonder when she suddenly reached out and took his face in her hands. "You figured it out!" she said, and whether she pulled him down or he just bent his head he would never be sure of, but the next thing he knew she was pressing her lips to his in a kiss.

Alistair froze the second her mouth hit his. He had only time to close his eyes and feel his eyebrows climb his forehead when it was over, and she gasped and let go of him. He opened his eyes to see her take a step back, staring up at him with a look of pure horror on her face that set his insides to twisting. "Um," he said, too dumbstruck to form words.

"I don't know why I did that!" she said waving a hand in his vague direction. "That was  _completely_ inappropriate! I'm so sorry!"

He tried to breathe normally. "It's  _fine_." His voice sounded strangled and strange from the strain of trying to keep his tone casual, sure that she could hear the way his heart was thundering in his ears.

She didn't seem to know where to look, because her gaze kept flicking to him and then away. "Do not read anything into this," she said sharply. "I was just . . . it doesn't mean . . ." she stopped herself from finishing whatever it was she was going to say by sharply shaking her head. She still didn't meet his gaze. "We need to talk to Teagan," she said, before turning on her heel and fleeing back into the main hall.

He watched her go, paralyzed by his wildly warring emotions. Elation? Dread? He wasn't sure what he was feeling after that kiss and its aftermath. Unconsciously he raised a hand to his mouth before he caught himself and lowered it. He hurried after Elissa, his footsteps ringing out loudly in the quiet hall.

* * *

Elissa was surrounded by puzzled looks from their party and Redcliffe's knights as she knelt on the floor in front of Isolde and Teagan, the contents of her pack spread out before her.

"I know I have at least four spirit shards," she mumbled to herself, rifling through the items.

Morrigan cocked her head the side. "Spirit shards?" Her eyes went wide. "You're making spirit balm."

"Spirit balm?" Teagan frowned down at Elissa. "What is going on here? Elissa, what is it you're planning on doing?"

Elissa glanced around and seemed to take in for the first time the number of people staring at her in confusion. She rose to her feet, taking two deliberate steps to stand before Teagan.

"Bann Teagan, you said before any of this started that you and Isolde and Connor were expendable." Isolde gasped at her words, but Elissa ignored her and went on. "You said yourself that Arl Eamon is the priority here." She narrowed her eyes at Teagan. "Do you still believe this to be true?"

Teagan's face went pale at Elissa's serious look, but he frowned and nodded, looking resolved. "I do. Without the Arl, our plans against Loghain will come to naught."

Elissa nodded crisply. "Good." She put her hands behind her back and trained her gaze across the room, as if making she sure had their undivided attention before proceeding. Needless to say, she did. "This demon is still in the Fade, working  _through_ Connor, and it apparently needs a mortal vessel—living or dead—with which to act."

She knelt in front of her items again, before grabbing the soft velvet bag and standing. She turned to Morrigan. "Take these," she said, pressing the bag into Morrigan's hand. "And make as much Spirit Balm as you can. That'll protect you from the demon's mind control."

Morrigan frowned at her. "Why are you speaking as if you won't be here?"

Elissa beamed. "Because I won't. Alistair and I are going to the Tower for help. If we can find a spirit healer to come back with us, they might be able to keep the Arl alive after we go into the Fade to kill the demon."

"Plus, they'll have lyrium at the tower," Alistair, feeling his own sense of excitement grow. This really was a good plan! "So we won't have to resort to a blood magic ritual."

Teagan made a thoughtful hum. "The Tower is about a day's journey across the lake. You could attempt to get the mages' help—"

"But what will happen here?" Isolde asked. "Connor will not remain passive forever!"

" _That's_  what the spirit balm is for!" Elissa said with an enthusiastic shout. Everyone startled and looked at her, and she shook her head and went on a trifle more calmly. "Use the spirit balm to guard against the demon's mind control, and for the love of Andraste, burn all those corpses in your dungeon!"

Teagan nodded thoughtfully. "It is a risk, but it is one I'm willing to take to save the arl." He looked at Elissa with naked admiration. "This is a good plan, Elissa."

Elissa's smile spread even wider and she blushed a little when she glanced at Alistair. "It was Alistair's idea, actually," she said quietly. After a beat, she added, "Though of course, without  _my_  planning and additional input, we would surely fail."

Alistair gave a soft snort of a laugh, but couldn't keep from grinning back at her. "Of course."

"Congratulations!" Morrigan said, voice dripping with sarcasm as she moved to inspect Elissa's supplies. "Together the two of you almost make up one fully functional Grey Warden!"

"Hey!" Alistair was offended, but Elissa waved aside Morrigan's insult, pulling Leliana by her elbow a few paces away from the others. With a curious frown, Alistair joined them. Elissa turned to Leliana and said in a low voice, "I need you to stay in the castle with Sten and Morrigan."

Alistair and Leliana shared a look. "What? I'm not going with you?" Leliana asked.

Elissa gave an undignified snort. "Of course not! I'm not leaving Jowan alone with Isolde and Connor. And I'm not eager to bring Sten or Morrigan to the Circle Tower. We'll need people here making sure the demon doesn't attack again." She gave Leliana a pleading look. "I need you here to help . . . facilitate things, between the Arlessa and the Bann. I'm hoping you can provide a kind of . . . buffer . . . to Morrigan and Sten."

Leliana raised a hand. "No need to say more. I understand."

"Good. Now, I need to give Morrigan a few more instructions, and Alistair and I need to prepare to leave."

Alistair watched her walk over to Morrigan and then the two women huddled over Elissa's pack, trading items back and forth and speaking in hushed tones. In that instant it dawned on Alistair: he was going to be traveling alone with Elissa. Who, he all of a sudden remembered with a rush of heat, not so very long ago had  _kissed him right on his mouth._

"Why is your face all red?" Leliana's tone had a touch of amusement in it.

He rubbed his neck and glanced away. "Uh . . . just nervous I guess." He looked back at Morrigan and Elissa, and just then the witch met his gaze and narrowed her eyes at him in open hostility. He rolled his eyes. "Hey listen," he said in a low tone. "While we're gone, make sure Morrigan doesn't go and do something . . . stupid."

"Like what?"

"I don't know. Like, kill Connor or perform the ritual or . . . possess someone and turn them into a frog. I don't know! I just . . . I get the feeling she's up to something."

Leliana regarded him thoughtfully and then nodded. "Do not worry. I will keep an eye on her."

* * *

The kiss wasn't even particularly . . .  _good_ , if Alistair was going to be objective about it. It was over before it even began and her lips had been pursed together primly as if she were kissing her grandmother . . . and yet, it was tantalizingly  _close_  to being something pleasant, and Alistair was sure if they'd had another shot at it . . .

He shook his head to stop himself. What in Andraste's knobby knees was he doing thinking about kissing Elissa? The kiss clearly hadn't  _meant_  anything, and he was only going to embarrass himself if he kept pretending that it did.

No, better to focus on all that they had in front of them than indulge in such idle (but oh-so-appealing) fantasies.

"Alistair, we need to speak."

His heart leapt to his throat and he jumped at the voice. Elissa had appeared beside him. They were standing on the boat's prow, having just shoved off from the dock at Redcliffe Village a few minutes before.

She wore a serious expression. A cold knot of dread formed in his throat.  _She knows_ , he thought absurdly.  _She knows I was thinking about kissing her, and she's going to tell me to stop_. If it were anyone else he'd have told himself he was being ridiculous, but the fact was he had now come to believe Elissa capable of making just about any deduction he could think of.

"What did you want to ask me about?" he said, trying to keep his voice neutral. He watched as Redcliffe village rescinded into the horizon.

Elissa took a deep breath. "I have a confession to make."

Alistair frowned, feeling at once both relieved and concerned. Relieved at least that she didn't appear ready to scold him for being a lecher, but worried about whatever secret she'd obviously been keeping. "Oh?"

She turned to face him. "It's . . . not likely to  _matter_ , but just in case something happens to us . . . I told Morrigan to do the ritual if we're not back within twenty-four hours."

Alistair's mouth dropped open. "You're kidding."

She frowned up at him. "Why would I joke about this?" she asked in all seriousness.

He breathed out a laugh. "Never mind. Just . . . wow. Alright, well I guess I have a confession of my own." He gave her a rueful grin. "I kind of . . . told Leliana to keep an eye on Morrigan and not let her do anything crazy."

Elissa tilted her head back and looked up at the sky. "So . . . basically . . . we may have potentially pit two of our companions against each other?"

Alistair winced. "I guess we did."

They shared a worried glance, and then Elissa's brow smoothed and she shook her head forcefully. "It's going to be  _fine,"_  she said. "We'll be back well before then. Nothing's going to happen anyway."

He smiled warmly at her. Of course, Elissa was right. She was always right. This plan of theirs was perfect, and everything was going to work out just fine.

This really was the ideal solution, he thought to himself, feeling the warm rush of pride that it was his idea that had propelled them onto this path. At least this way, nobody had to die to get rid of the demon. He wouldn't have to explain to the Arl why he killed his son or his wife-in fact, this way, the Arl stood a chance at waking at all.

Yet again he remembered the feel of Elissa's mouth pressing against his.

Maker, who was he kidding? It was the best idea he'd ever come up with about anything in his entire life. The only question he had now was if he'd ever come up with another idea half so good, and if he did . . . would it earn him another kiss from Elissa?

He was going to have to start using his brain a lot more, he decided in that instant . . .


	22. Circle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elissa makes and breaks more vows...

_Is there a powder to erase this?  
_ _Is it dissolvable and tasteless?  
_ _You can't imagine how I hate this  
_ — _Graceless_ , The National __  


The ship that sailed to Kinloch Hold was a single-mast cog intended to haul two dozen or so travelers. The trip was rarely made for the purpose of visiting the Circle Tower itself, but rather it served as a convenient passage north for those wishing a shortcut across the Bannorn. It was a quick voyage—only 10 hours with good weather—and so there was little room designated on the small ship for sleeping. Elissa had to make do with trying to arrange herself on one of the hard wooden benches placed on the deck for the ship's passengers. She and Alistair (and Prince) were the only ones on board today, and the ship was running with a skeleton crew, so it made for a quiet trip.

The silence coupled with the gentle rocking motion of the boat should have provided the ideal situation for a much needed nap. She was exhausted enough that sleep should have come easily, but instead, she found herself still struggling to explain what had happened at the castle.

She could not come up with a single good reason for why she'd taken such an impetuous and stupid action. What had she been thinking? As if she needed another complication in her life . . .

And to think, she had been  _so_ proud of herself, too. Fighting through the castle had reminded her vividly of the fateful night she had escaped her own castle, and it had been quite difficult not to dwell on unwanted and unhappy memories. And then, to make things that much harder, Isolde and Connor managed to remind her vividly of Oriana and Oren. She had been immensely proud of the fact that she had managed to maintain a sufficient level of rationality and objectivity about the entire affair to get through the whole thing with nary a breakdown in sight.

And then she had to go and ruin everything with one ill-advised and entirely unsatisfactory kiss. Not like the kiss she'd given Rory, and yet . . .

With a sigh she gave up the pretense of trying to sleep and sat up, crossing her arms to her chest and leaning back against the seat. She stared up at the sunny sky, trying to clear her mind. Her thoughts were leading her nowhere she wanted to go and in spite of yesterday's imbroglio she had made some progress lately with reigning in her often tumultuous emotions. It would simply not do to start thinking about Rory now.

With a deep sigh, she turned her head to look back at Alistair who was sitting in the row behind her with his elbow on the arm of the bench and his head propped up against his hand. His eyes were closed and his chest rose and fell at such a slow and steady pace that Elissa was convinced that he, at least, wasn't faking sleep.

It seemed cruel to wake him only to hurt his feelings. She imagined his handsome face falling in disappointment, and was surprised at the tightness in her chest the image elicited—

— _unless he was relieved, instead_ , she thought, turning to face away from Alistair with a jolt. She  _should_ hope for such an outcome but imagining him having a reaction other than disappointment made her stomach twist into an uncomfortable knot.

Elissa frowned. She should not be wasting even a second thinking about this utter nonsense. She  _should_  be devoting her energy to figuring out precisely how she was going to convince the Templars to give up a copious amount of lyrium and a handful of Circle mages to do her bidding. That was an actual problem, not this fabricated crisis.

She and Alistair had managed to have several short conversations and neither of them had acted like anything out of the ordinary had happened between them. Why shouldn't they just continue on as if it hadn't? What she fervently wanted was for the act to have never happened in the first place, but since she couldn't change the past, perhaps the next best thing would simply be to pretend that it didn't exist.

She breathed a deep sigh of relief at having come to a decision, and lay back down on the bench, letting her arm drop down to pat her Prince's head, who was stretched out on the floor beside her. Comforted at last with a workable plan, she felt her body relax and start the drift toward much-needed sleep.

_And if Alistair continues to appear content to pretend nothing happened, there's an answer there too, isn't there?_

The thought creased her brow for a moment but then she let it go, allowing the soft motion of the boat lumbering across the lake lull her into sleep.

* * *

"Elissa, wake up."

With a gasp she opened her eyes and found herself looking up at Alistair, who had been leaning over the high back of the wooden bench, shaking her gently to try to get her to wake. "Sorry." He coughed and sat back down on the bench behind her. "It's just that you were shouting. Loud. And not in a good, this-is-private way, either. "

She sat up and shook her foggy head, still not completely free of the Fade. Wiping her eyes with her hand she looked over at Alistair. "What are you talking about?" she said blearily.

One side of his mouth started to curve upward. "Never mind," he said, shaking his head. "Anyway, it's good timing. We're almost there."

She turned around to face away from him determined to ignore him. That was the trouble with Alistair, though. She couldn't ignore him because he was, quite literally, always on her mind—whenever he was near she felt a buzzing in the back of her skull from the connection they shared through the taint. She still was not quite used to it, and sometimes wondered if she ever would be.

She frowned as she concentrated on the sensation, a curious idea springing to mind. She could sense his presence through the Taint, but what if it was more than that?  _What if . . ._  "That could explain it," she said to herself in awe, sitting up a little straighter.

"Explain what?"

She turned back to Alistair with sudden interest. "Does the Taint cause any sort of shared consciousness among Wardens?"

He frowned and cocked his head to the side. "How do you mean?"

"Like, I don't know . . . shared thoughts, memories . . ."  _Emotions_. She couldn't bring herself to say that last one aloud.

"I don't think so," he said with a dismissive shrug. "At least, I never experienced anything like that with the other Wardens."

She nodded and tried to ignore the wave of disappointment that washed over her, but then she frowned, unwilling to give up such a ready explanation so quickly. Alistair was a new, inexperienced Warden. It was possible that he just didn't know—

"Why do you ask?"

"Hmm?" she said, wondering to herself if Kinloch Hold would have any books about the Wardens.  _What I need is a primary source_ , she mused.  _A journal or a diary or some other first-hand account of becoming a Warden and how Taint could affect . . ._

"I said, why do you ask?" Alistair's tone was a touch more amused, and it made her finally look up at him and realize what he was saying. His brow knit together in confusion but he had the hint of a smile on his lips.

Her eyes went wide for a fraction of a second before she recovered and huffed indignantly. "Intellectual curiosity?" she offered in as haughty a tone as she could muster. "You know, it would behoove you to develop some yourself at some point, Alistair  _Theirin._ "

She started to smile to herself, anticipating the flush that would likely creep over his face at  _that_ , but this was one of those odd times when he seemed impervious to her querulousness.

"But, you said  _'that could explain it,'_ " he insisted, his mouth curving upward into an infuriating little smirk and his warm hazel eyes twinkling with what she feared was knowing amusement. "Explain  _what_  exactly?"

Her mouth opened and closed like a fish for a few seconds, but before she could come up with a suitable lie, Alistair's expression abruptly changed. He stopped smiling and looked around sharply as the boat finally pulled to a halt at the docks that ran out from underneath Kinloch Hold.

Elissa quickly forgot her embarrassment as she tried to discern what set Alistair off. It wasn't darkspawn—she didn't sense any of the foul creatures nearby.

They both stood, but then the boat rocked unexpectedly and Alistair went stumbling away, arms pin wheeling wildly to keep his balance. Elissa couldn't help the laugh that escaped her at that. She'd gracefully kept her own balance, bending her knees and swaying with the rocking vessel, as a lifetime of growing up by the sea had taught her.

Alistair gave her an annoyed look and her hand flew to her mouth to stifle her laughter. She knew something was  _really_ wrong when he neither blushed nor shot her a crooked grin in return. "There's something not right," he said grimly, paying her antics no mind and heading toward the plank the sailors had set down to allow them to disembark the boat.

She followed with a frown, only to find he waited for her at the bottom of the ramp, holding out his hand to help her down. She grasped it without thinking, and as she took the last, big step onto the dock she had to wonder if all Templars were taught such unassuming and easy gallantry.

"Magic," he said, quelling her irrelevant musings on his educational background with a word. He gave her a worried glance. "A lot of it."

She felt her heart pulse in her throat and in that instant the scent of sulfur and other unidentifiable, acrid odors made it to her nostrils. She tried to keep her breathing calm as she snatched her hand away from Alistair's. "Well, it is a tower full of mages," she said. "Isn't that normal?"

He shook his head. "Not like this."

They walked down the dock that ran underneath the tower, and into an underground tunnel. A large, metal door loomed up in front of them, guarded by a single Templar. He shouted something at them as they approached but the crashing of the waves against the dock and the wind whipping through the tunnel caught his voice and she missed it.

"What did you say?" she said as they finally drew near to him.

The Templar blinked at her in surprise, but he shook his head after a moment before he resumed his shouting. "No one gets in the Tower. No one! The tower is off-limits to all!" He waved a hand in the general direction of where their ship had docked. "So just, get back on your boat and shove off!"

 _So no, not all Templars have Alistair's manners._ "This is  _official_  Grey Warden business," she said, jutting out her chin and trying her best to look both down her nose and up at him. "Now, step aside."

He was unimpressed by her officious tone. "Oh, you're a Grey Warden, are you? Prove it."

Alistair moved his pack off his shoulder. "We've got treaties requiring the Circle's help in fighting the Blight," he said, rummaging through his things and retrieving a sheaf of paper. "See here." He held up the document and pointed at the official-looking seal at the bottom.

"Yes?" The Templar peered in the torchlight at the document. "Oh, a Grey Warden seal," he said, voice thick with disbelief. "A-ha. So you're claiming to be one of  _those_." He stepped back and crossed his arms, leering at the two of them. "You know, I have some documents, too. They say I'm the queen of Antiva. What do you think of that?"

Elissa gave a snort of disgust. "Not much," she said. "You're  _obviously_  a Templar."

Alistair gave a long, pained sigh and it was only then that it occurred to Elissa that the thick-headed Templar was being sarcastic.  _Maker_ , did she hate that! She felt a flush overtake her but she took several deliberate, deep breaths until she was able to think calmly and rationally.

This man's obvious unfriendliness coupled with Alistair's Templar senses going off told Elissa that there must be something very wrong with the Tower.

The thought was sobering. She took a quick scan of the surroundings, feeling the trepidation that had been growing inside her abate minutely in favor of cool observation. When she turned back to the Templar to address him she did so with a steady voice and a steely gaze. "I don't imagine this guard station is an enviable one for members of your order."

The templar shifted uncomfortably where he stood and Elissa knew that her guess had hit the mark. "No," he said with a forced casualness. "Not especially."

"Bit lonely, isn't it?" Her look was coolly sympathetic.

The man's lips pressed together, but he nodded vigorously. "That's right," he said. "It  _does_  get lonely out here—"

She narrowed her eyes. "You're obviously already on thin ice with your superiors. Imagine how much worse your assignment will be once they discover you've given me trouble."

His eyes went wide, and he started to laugh. "Oh, really? You think Greagoir would be upset with me for not letting you in?" The possibility of that being true seemed to strike him only then. "Wait," he said, frowning to himself. "Actually, he would. Good point."

She smiled primly. "Well, then we should do our best to avoid that, shouldn't we?"

"Yeah," he breathed out, in clear relief. Elissa stole a glance at Alistair. He was looking at the man with an expression of disgusted shock. She felt her brow smooth in relief. At least this kind of incompetent buffoonery struck Alistair as odd, too. She'd be worried if it hadn't.

The templar unlocked the heavy metal doors and swung them open. Alistair and Elissa made their way up the wide, stone staircase in silence, each lost in their own apprehensive thoughts, while Prince trotted beside them happily, apparently oblivious to the consternation of his companions.

Elissa wondered what could be going on in the Tower that would cause such an immoderate reaction. The thought sent worry churning through her chest. They were on a tight schedule. The twenty-four hours she had given Morrigan had not been an arbitrary parameter—after assembling as much of the ingredients as they could find she had determined that they had almost exactly on full day's supply of Spirit Balm.

Without the balm, the demon might be able to take over one of her companions (or Teagan, she thought with a stab of worry . . . or Isolde, she thought with a significantly less intense stab of worry) and that could prove dangerous—too dangerous, in her mind, and so she had ordered Morrigan to perform the ritual with Jowan if they had not returned by then.

It had seemed like the thing to do, given her luck of late, but even then she had fervently believed that they would be able to return with a few hours to spare. This was supposed to be a quick stop to gather supplies and people before boarding the ship and turning right back to Redcliffe.

_If they were delayed . . ._

She silently prayed that whatever was going on in the Tower was not so intense a problem that it took more than four hours to fix.

* * *

"Has the whole world gone  _mad_?"

She had to stop vowing to remain emotionless. It seemed doing so only encouraged the Maker to test her resolve.

It was worse than she could have predicted. Not only had they the poor fortune to arrive in the middle of a mage revolt, it also appeared that a good number of those mages she so desperately needed had up and decided that now was the perfect time to turn to blood magic and demon-summoning.

Knight Commander Greagoir was a man of her father's age, with steel-grey hair and a well-trimmed beard. "Abominations and demons stalk the tower halls," he said bluntly.

It felt like the walls of the tower had already come crashing down around her when Greagoir told them that he had sent for the Rite of Annulment. She knew full well what that meant.

Elissa breathed out a frustrated sigh. Beyond their immediate hopes for solving the situation in Redcliffe, she knew that they had an even greater need for mages if and when they faced the Archdemon. She couldn't fathom going to war with the terrifying beast from her nightmares with Morrigan as the only spell caster in their army.

_She can't even heal . . ._

She suddenly found herself furious. Wrecking their well-laid plan to save Alistair's family was bad enough. Leaving Ferelden with only one incredibly prickly and underdressed mage at her disposal to fight the Blight? Entirely unacceptable.

"The Circle cannot remain as it is and it cannot be annulled." She paused, but then said with firm resolution, "we'll go in there and save who we can."

The old man's eyes went wide in surprise. "You must face and slaughter the abominations to get to the bottom of this." His gaze flickered up and down Elissa's form, and she could see the doubt in his eyes. "Are you sure you can handle them?"

She opened her mouth to retort but Alistair interrupted her. "Can we talk about this a moment?" he said lowly, touching her elbow and bending to speak in her ear.

Whatever she meant to say fled her mind so she shot Greagoir a dirty look and let Alistair lead her a small distance away from the man to speak in private. She looked up at him with an annoyed scowl. "What?"

He was unperturbed yet again by her irascibility. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully and his hesitation made her curious. "We really need to think about what we do here," he began, not meeting her eye.

She gaped at him in shock. "You can't really believe we can just  _let_  them annul the circle. I don't need to remind you of the many reasons why we need mages right this instance, do I?"

"Listen, I'm just saying we need to think about it." He gave her a serious frown. "These are  _demons_  and  _abominations_  we're talking about. Look what happened with just  _one_  demon in Redcliffe. And we have no idea how many we'll face in the tower . . . or how many  _blood mages_  are in there either for that matter."

She felt an icy sensation flow through her veins at Alistair's words, and her throat was suddenly dry. But she had already worked this out in her head when she was speaking to Greagoir and her conclusion would be no different now. "Alistair," she said, meeting his gaze with a steely one of her own. "How do we kill the Archdemon?"

He gave a small, pained sigh before saying, "You know I don't know."

"Right. We don't. But I'm guessing it's going to involve somehow getting him out of the sky. Don't you think mages might play an integral role in such an endeavor?"

"Of course."

"So how can you suggest that the both of us go crawling back to Redcliffe empty handed?"

He took a deep breath and held it a second, before finally saying with the tiniest wince, "I wasn't suggesting  _both_  of us."

Her mouth and eyes went wide with comprehension. "You want . . . you want  _me_  to go back to Redcliffe?"

"Well, look," he said, appearing the epitome of cool rationality, "you said yourself, if we don't get back in twenty-four hours, Morrigan will do the ritual. You can go back and tell them we need a little more time . . . "

"That won't work!" she said, nearly shouting in exasperation. She took a deep breath and said more calmly, "The Circle doesn't have any ships. I'd have to sail to Redcliffe with ours and then sail back to come get you and the mages. That'll take  _way_  too much time—"

He held up a hand in surrender. "Alright, alright. You're right. You can't go back to Redcliffe." He looked around and then gave a little shrug. "Well, I guess you could just wait here."

She stared at him in confusion until she realized his true intention for leaving her behind. "You think . . . you think it's too dangerous for  _me_  is what you really mean. _"_

It was obvious it was true. "Look, this isn't going to be like fighting darkspawn, or fighting some mindless undead. This is going to be much worse."

She shot him an incredulous and angry glare. "So what you're saying is you would rather go into this incredibly dangerous tower  _completely_   _alone_ rather than have me accompany you?"

His gaze flicked to Prince, who was watching them in entertained silence. "Well, maybe not  _completely_  alone."

Heat flared up her face. Prince was good enough to take along, but not her? "That makes  _no_   _sense,"_ she snapped, overcome with a sudden fury. "Your judgment is obviously clouded by . . ."

She stopped, appalled at the presumption she'd almost spoken aloud. It hung unspoken between them for only a second, however. Thank the Maker for her quick mind.

". . . by your parochial attitude about women!" she finished.

His eyes flashed in anger, though whether its source was the words she said or the words she  _didn't_  say, she couldn't tell. "This has nothing to do with my 'attitude about women'," he said, punctuating each word with biting scorn. "And everything to do with the fact that you never picked up a sword until two weeks ago!"

She was shocked at how much his dismissal of her abilities stung. She stood there blinking away stupid, ridiculous tears until she was forced to stare at the floor. "I thought you said . . . I thought you said we fought well together?" she asked, hating how small her voice sounded.

He gave another sigh and took a step closer to her. "'Liss," he began, and she wasn't sure then whether she loved the nickname or she hated it. "This is going up against demons, and abominations, and  _mages_. This is far more dangerous than  _anything_  we've been up against yet." She finally looked up at him, and was surprised to see a contrite expression on his face. "I'm sorry. I just . . . we should think this through."

She frowned and lowered her gaze, only to find herself staring at Alistair's wide chest.  _This. This is why a romantic entanglement is such a terrible idea._  Such . . . sentiment . . . if that's what it was . . . seemed to bring out an irrational sort of protectiveness in people. It was exactly this kind of foolishness that had gotten Rory killed . . .

She shook her head, unwilling to dwell on that thought any further. "If we want to be coldly logical about all this, then  _you_  should stay here, and  _I_  should be the one to go in the Tower." She crossed her arms over her chest. "After all, you're the one who is heir—"

"Don't even  _say_  it," he said, a warning tone in his voice.

She shrugged. "I am simply making a point. I'm certain we can come up with several rationales for leaving either of us behind." She took a deep breath. "But I don't want to do that. I don't want to think about which of us gets to be safe and which of us doesn't. I just . . ." Her throat felt impossibly thick. "We're in this  _together_. We're a team. We're not . . . there's no . . ." She scowled as she trailed off, beyond annoyed at how her voice shook. She was getting stupidly emotional  _yet again_  and hated every moment of it. But they were  _Wardens_  for the love of Andraste. The only two left, and her being one was the only thing she  _had_  left. Maybe it was the Taint. Maybe it was just being thrown together in a terrible situation. But the fact was, they shared the same burden and the same duty, and she would be thrice damned if they didn't somehow manage to share it equally. She took a deep breath and finished much more firmly, "we will  _not_  speak of leaving one another behind again."

Uncalled for as her emotional display might have been, it seemed to work on Alistair because he finally relented. He gave a dramatic sigh. "Fine!" he said, throwing up his hands in surrender. His voice sounding equally annoyed and amused and that was somehow deeply comforting. "It's not like I ever really  _expected_  to win an argument with you anyway."

"And yet you keep trying. You're either a hopeless optimist or a glutton for punishment."

He shot her a crooked grin and then offered her his arm. "Hey, I could be  _both_ ," he said cheerfully, and in spite of everything she found herself smiling back at him as she took the elbow Alistair proffered and let him lead her back to Greagoir.

The Knight Commander informed him that he'd only call off the Rite if he heard from the First Enchanter himself that the tower was secure. Elissa hesitated when she heard the criterion for success, but she had not overstated the need they had for mages, so she swallowed her reservations and followed Alistair past the large metal doors.

They banged shut with an ominous  _clang_ behind them, and Elissa paused, taking a steadying breath. She looked over to see Alistair grinning down at her.

"What?" she said, quirking up an eyebrow. They started making their way down the hall.

"Nothing. Just . . ." He glanced over at her and his eyes shone with admiration. "I just . . . I think you're really brave. To do this."

Elissa halted at the flush of . . . something . . . she felt start to rise on her cheeks. "Don't say such things!" she blurted out.

His face screwed up in amused confusion. "What? What things?"

 _Things that make me lose my breath and my heart speed up._ She frowned at the hallway in front of them, keeping her gaze studiously away from his. "It is not necessary to buoy up my courage with insincere flattery," she said stiffly, resuming her walk and picking up the pace significantly. Her boots clicked loudly on the stone floor; the hallway was eerily quiet, otherwise.

He kept pace with her and it appeared once again that he was completely impervious to her icy attitude. He leaned a little closer as they walked together and said in a low tone, "Why would any flattery I give you  _ever_  be insincere?"

Elissa rolled her eyes and turned her face away so that he couldn't see the smile fighting its way on to her lips.  _Blast it all to the void,_  she thought in anger only a second later. He was actually trying to flirt with her again!

 _Well,_  an oddly wry voice filled her head.  _You_ did _kiss him on the mouth just this morning._ She stifled a sigh and wondered if her plan to do nothing was really all that effective after all. She was going to have to say something.

Now was as good a time as any, she thought, stealing another glance at him. Of course, they  _did_ have a tower full of abominations, demons and blood mages to fight through . . . perhaps a distracting conversation like that would be better saved for later.

She would have the necessary conversation with him, she silently vowed to herself, steadily ignoring the nagging voice that wondered if she'd manage to keep  _this_  vow.

She  _would_ , she insisted to herself again. Not right now. But soon . . .


	23. Fade, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair has a surprising reunion.

_Welcome to the inner workings of my mind_

— _Hurricane, MS MR_

"Solona? You're  _alive_? I can't believe it!"

Alistair's heart was near to bursting with joy as he picked up the willowy brunette and spun her around in an affectionate hug.

"Ugh," she said, slapping a hand lightly on his back. "Put me down!"

He obliged and set her down with a happy smile in front of him. "But, I don't understand. How can you be alive? We thought you were dead for sure . . ."

He trailed off; his head was full of a painful fog when he tried to cast his memory back to that fateful night . . .  _Wait, what night?_

"Not dead," Solona intoned, smoothing her blue robes with her hand. "I actually made it back to the Circle Tower." She looked up at him and narrowed her deep brown eyes. "You must have come to the Tower, too. Do you remember?"

He frowned at her, wondering how such simple words could cause such confusion. When he tried to hold on to a single thought about Solona he felt a sharp pain in his temple.

He shook his head. "Come on, I can't wait to introduce you to my sister!" He pulled on her arm and tried to lead her up the steps to the porch at his sister's house. "Goldanna's making supper right now. I'm sure she won't mind having a guest!" But Solona dug in her heels and wouldn't let him move her. He let go and looked back at her with a concerned frown. "Solona? What's wrong?"

Before she could answer, the door opened and Goldanna came out. "Alistair! Why didn't you tell me we had company?" she scolded, though the rebuke lacked any heat. She walked down the stairs to join them and gave Alistair's arm a playful squeeze. "Is this the one you were telling me about? You're right. She  _is_  pretty." She beamed at the other woman. "I'm glad she showed up. I was beginning to think this was all a little one-sided," she added in a teasing tone.

First embarrassment and then annoyance flitted across Alistair's face, but then he rolled his eyes. Older sisters were nothing if not meddlesome.

"First of all, this isn't her," he corrected, and then shot Solona an apologetic look. "I mean . . . not that you're not pretty, of course. You are. But I was talking about somebody else." Solona opened her mouth to speak, but he didn't let her get a word out. "And  _second of all_ ," he said, whirling on his older sister, "it is  _not_  one-sided. Did you forget how  _she_  kissed  _me_?"

Solona started to sigh but then brought herself up short. "Wait, really?" she said, eyes lighting up before she caught herself and shook her head. "No. It doesn't matter. Listen to me, Alistair. We can't stay here. This isn't safe. This isn't  _real_."

"No," he said flatly, surprised at the surge of defiance he felt at Solona's words. "You're wrong. Being here is exactly where I need to be." He shook his head, overcome with a sudden certainty. "I thought being a Grey Warden would make me happy, but it didn't." He stared at the young woman, hoping she could read in his face how very serious he was. "This  _does_."

Solona closed her eyes. "I don't have time for this," she said, opening her eyes a moment later and reaching out to tap his forehead sharply with two fingers.

The instant her fingers made contact with his skin he felt a surge of energy and his mind instantly just  _cleared—_ it was a little like being jolted awake by getting a giant bucket of ice water dumped over your head.

Goldanna was gone, and in her place stood a grotesque looking demon. "No!" It said, and its voice had a demonic timber that rumbled through his ears. "He is ours, and I'd rather see him dead than free!"

_So much for older sisters._ He pulled his sword from its sheath and struck the demon down, realizing as he did that Goldanna's house was gone, and that he was not on a busy street in Denerim like he had thought, but rather in some weirdly smoky place that seemed not quite material. "Are we in the Fade?" he shouted, hacking at another demon that sprung up behind 'Goldanna.'

"And the prize for being Master of the Obvious goes to Alistair!" Solona used the intricate looking staff she carried to shoot a blast of magical energy at the demon in front of her.

He'd have rolled his eyes at the other woman's sarcasm if he hadn't felt gripped with an overwhelming fear. The Fade? How had he gotten here? How was he going to get out?

He lunged and buried his sword in the last demon's gut, before yanking it back out again. The thing fell to the ground with a satisfying thud.

"Great," said Solona, fixing the staff to a strap on her back, and wiping her hands together. "Now, let's just—"

Alistair felt like he was being pulled in a million different directions at once, and when he looked down he saw swirls of smoke climbing up his body. "Hey!" he shouted in alarm. "What's happening to me?"

He was just about to pass out from the vertigo when he felt a firm grip on his arm. "Oh, no you don't!" Solona said, and just like that the smoke cleared and he was standing whole and intact (so far as he could tell) in front of her.

"I don't understand." He blinked, trying to remember. "How did you survive the Tower of Ishal? How are you even here right now? What is going on?"

Solona was still panting from the battle. She held up a hand. "I'll explain everything . . . but first, we need to find the pedestal and get out of here."

"Pedestal?" He looked around, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. It seemed like the landscape was shifting before his eyes whenever he stared too long at any one spot. Finally, he thought he saw a small table off in the distance, down a trail that was dotted with a bunch of dead looking trees. "Like that?" he said, pointing.

"Ah ha!" Solona clapped her hands. "Come on!"

He sheathed his sword and followed her. As they raced down the trail his mind churned with questions. If they were in the Fade, did that mean they were both dreaming? Were their bodies still resting at the top of the Tower?

They reached the pedestal and Solona grabbed his arm after placing a hand on its surface.

"Not so fast," he said, pulling free of her grasp and taking a step back. His heart was pounding in his chest. He'd been utterly fooled by an illusion once already today. He wasn't going to let that happen again. "Before I go anywhere, I want some answers. What are you  _doing_ here? Where are we? What is going on?" He brought his hand to rest on the hilt of his sword. "How do I know  _you're_  not a demon?" he asked, voice dropping a register in dread and suspicion.

Solona saw the gesture and put up her hands. "I'm nodemon, and you know how you can tell?" He frowned but had no answer. "Because I'm not asking you for anything, alright? I'm trying to help you find your friends and get out of the fade. I'm a dreamer here . . . just like you."

He frowned at the other woman, unable to poke holes in her logic. "Alright," he said, taking his hand off the hilt of his sword. "But how the hell did you survive Ostagar?"

Solona gave an undignified snort. "I could ask you the same question! I woke up at the top of the tower surrounded by a bunch of dead darkspawn and an injured mabari, and you and Elissa were nowhere to be found."

"Ah, right," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "That's a bit of an unbelievable tale, actually."

She waved a hand dismissively. "Save it then, for once we're out of here. Now, are you satisfied that I'm not a demon? Can we go?"

"Hang on! I'm still confused about what's going on."

She looked up at him with a frown. "What's the last thing you remember?"

He cast his memory backward. "Elissa and I entered the tower to look for survivors," he said, before looking up at Solona sharply. "Do you know where she is?"

Solona nodded. "I do . . . and she's fine, for the moment. What else do you remember?"

He gave a deep breath and tried to remember, feeling a wave of relief that the effort didn't' cost him any pain. He remembered that he and Elissa found a few mage survivors on the first floor, and one of them was a talented spirit healer named Wynne. She'd insisted on joining them as they tried to find the First Enchanter. It had been rough going and it felt like it took a lifetime (especially when confronted with the possessed Templars on the third floor), but they had managed and had almost reached the top of the tower when—

"The demon," he said aloud. "The demon took us into the Fade?"

Solona nodded. "Not just you, but quite a few other dreamers too, though I think he's used up most of them by now."

"Used up?"

"Here, look." She gestured at the surface of the pedestal. "See these symbols?" There was a pattern of some kind carved into it, and parts were lit by an eerie pale light. It looked like a smattering of stars connected by straight lines. Some of the lines and stars were lit up, and some were still dark. "This pedestal represents a . . . well, a portal, if you will. It allows us to travel to different areas of this section of the Fade."

"This section?"

"The one ruled by the sloth demon who dragged you into the Fade with it."

"Right. Wait, what?"

Solona pinched the bridge of her nose. "Look, the Fade is split up into sections ruled by the more powerful demons or spirits. Right now, we're on a Sloth Demon's turf, and  _that_ is further divided into subsections guarded by minions." She gestured at a series of the stars that seemed to form a pentagon. "These lesser powerful demons keep old Sloth protected from any dreamers—like us—who just so happen to wake up."

"Oooh," he said, nodding at the pedestal. "So this is a sort of map?"

She shrugged. "Map, teleportation device . . . same thing in the Fade, basically."

"Teleportation? Really? We can use this to travel?"

"Yes!" She smiled at him, and then pointed at one of the sub-demon stars. "Right now the pedestal is only set up to let us travel here. And ordinarily we couldn't get here . . ." She moved her hand to gesture to a few stars that sat at the bottom edge of the pattern. ". . . to the other dreamers—without first defeating all the various minor demons."

"Ordinarily?" He creased his brow in confusion.

She nodded. "While the pedestal represents a map, it also represents a form of security—the demon doesn't actually  _trust_  his minions all that much, so he's put some wards on the pedestal to disallow travel between regions. The wards are linked to the lives of the minor demons . . ."

"So we have to kill the demons to get to the other dreamers?"

She gave a sly, knowing smile. " _Ordinarily_. But, we're going to  _cheat_."

He raised his eyebrows at the mischievous glint in her eye. "Well, it's hard to feel bad about cheating a demon," he said with a grin.

"That's the spirit!" Solona laughed, but then turned her attention back to the pedestal. "Basically, I'm going to trick the pedestal into allowing us into another person's dream." She bit her lip and looked up at Alistair. "So now, we have a decision to make."

"What sort of decision?"

"Well, here's the thing, the Sloth demon is feeding off of our emotions and mental energy by putting us into intense fabricated realities."

"Yeeees?"

"And, we've just taken away one of his dreamers." She gestured at the two lights that lie at the bottom of the pattern, and Alistair realized that when Solona was talking about other dreamers, she must have meant Wynne and Elissa.

"So what does that mean?"

"Right now Sloth's preoccupied, feasting off the delicious energy of Wynne and Elissa's dreams. The demon  _probably_  won't notice if we take away one more dreamer. If we take away  _both_ , it most certainly will get his attention."

"Oh," Alistair said, nodding thoughtfully. "And I take it getting the demon's attention is bad?"

Solona shrugged yet again. "It is if we get it before all his little minions are dead."

He frowned in confusion. "Wait a minute. I thought you said we didn't have to kill all those minions?"

"We don't have to kill them to  _travel_  where we want. But should we still kill them? I think so. Otherwise when we go to confront Mr. Sloth he'll just summon all of his minions at once to come to his aid . . ."

That didn't sound good. "Alright, I get it. We need to pick a dreamer to come with us. . . "

"And one to stay in la la land," Solona finished for him.

He stared at the pedestal, wondering how Solona could tell which star belonged to which dreamer.  _It must be a mage thing._ "So we pick one unlucky dreamer to come fight with us, and the other gets to stay a little longer in a pretty little dream?" He snorted a laugh. "You could have left me for last, you know."

Solona didn't seem to think that was very funny. She opened her mouth to say something, and then snapped it closed.

"What? What were you going to say?"

She heaved a giant sigh. "There's no guarantee that they'll be left in a  _pleasant_  dream. It could be that we're leaving them to suffer in a terrible nightmare."

He felt his gut twist into a knot. "Really?"

She gave a curt nod, and didn't meet his gaze. It was only then that he thought to wonder what dream the demon had tried to trap  _her_ in. "The demon has access to your thoughts and memories, and it uses that information to build what it hopes is the most emotional experience for you, because that's what it feeds off of—extreme emotion, good or bad." She gave him an odd little look then, that Alistair wasn't quite sure how to interpret it. "Apparently, your longing for a family is the thing you feel most intensely."

He cleared his throat, feeling the hint of a blush start to creep up his face. "Right. Listen, assuming we ever get out of here, can you try  _not_ to tell everyone how easily fooled I was?"

She gave him a small smile. "Don't worry about it," she said softly, and he felt a surge of gratitude at her empathetic tone. He supposed she might have had a similar dream herself—Circle mages were pretty much orphans just like him, after all.

He looked at the pedestal again, a new uncomfortable feeling settling into his chest. "Ugh, you want  _me_  to make this decision, don't you?"

Solona inclined her head. "Well look, you want my opinion? We grab Wynne. I know that you're worried about Elissa," she said, "but how bad could her nightmare really be anyway?"

He winced at Solona's dismissive tone. "Um, actually, now that you mention it? Pretty sodding bad."

Her grin fled her face as she studied his. "How bad?"

He took a deep breath. "As in, her entire family was only just recently massacred, bad."

Solona's eyes went wide and she looked at the pedestal in stunned silence for a few long moments "Wow," she finally breathed out.

"Yeah." He swallowed the lump in his throat, feeling anxiety start to worm its way through his gut like acid. He knew he had to make a call here but he felt paralyzed. Wynne would be the obvious choice, especially if they had to go and fight a bunch of demons. She was a powerful mage, capable of both offensive and defensive magic. Having a healer like her alongside them would practically guarantee success.

_But that means leaving Elissa in a nightmare._

The thought of Elissa enduring mental and emotional torture at the hands of the sloth demon made something inside Alistair twist painfully. And that only made him feel  _worse_ , because just as he knew that the demon would find a deep well of turmoil within Elissa's psyche from which to feed, he also knew that she would be downright livid with him if he were to choose her based on his nascent feelings of affection, rather than doing what was practical and safe.

He silently cursed himself for being stupid enough to fall for the world's most difficult woman, and then frowned a little at the surprising admission he'd just made.

"Alistair?" He'd been quiet too long. Solona was looking at him with an expression of concern. "What's the deal?"

Right. Time to decide.

Go for the practical route and rescue the useful old lady?

Or follow his heart and rescue the woman there was a distinct possibility he was falling in love with, even though doing so would probably just piss said woman off?

"Elissa," he said, after two seconds of deliberation. He stepped up to the pedestal and scanned it, trying to figure out which light was hers. "Let's go get Elissa."

"Alright, Elissa it is." Solona placed her hands over the pedestal and closed her eyes. He felt a magic energy emanate from the pedestal that felt unlike anything he'd ever experienced—but then again, this was the Fade. Maybe magic just felt differently here?

He watched the pedestal change before his eyes. Where before, the stars at the bottom of the pattern had been dark, they now lit up, and a line led from each one to the other. He let out a soft whistle. "What kind of magic is that?"

"Oh that? It's . . . nothing special. Just a little spirit magic to trick the pedestal." She shot him a wink, but then her face turned serious. "Are you sure you're ready for this?"

"Yeah. Let's do this."

"Alright . . . just, a word of warning. Going into someone's dream . . . it's a little like entering their mind," she said, creasing her brow with a frown as she stared at the pedestal. "You might not like what you see there."

Solona's grim warning struck him as a little odd, and he found himself wondering just how much experience she could have had in navigating other people's dreams, but before he could ask, Solona grabbed his arm and touched a star at the bottom of the pedestal.

Everything went impossibly still—he couldn't breathe, couldn't blink, couldn't do anything, and for one panicked second he wondered if Solona had accidentally killed them both, but then the world seemed to shift and swirl around him, and though he didn't feel himself moving at all, the next thing he knew he and Solona were standing in a large hallway in the middle of a castle.

He and Solona looked at each other with wide eyes before they both turned around, drinking in the sight of their new surroundings.

A clang of steel rang out and in that instant Alistair realized the air was thick with smoke. "The castle is under attack!" Solona said in a loud whisper, clutching at his arm.

_Who's Master of the Obvious now?_  He didn't say the thought aloud, however, as a sinking feeling settled into the pit of his stomach. "I think I know where we are."

Solona ran her hand through her short brown hair and seemed to calm down a bit. "Well, don't keep me in suspense Golden Boy. Spill it?"

He gave a little scowl at the nickname but then decided to ignore it. "We're in Castle Cousland. This is Elissa's home."

Solona's mouth fell open a little and she looked around their surroundings again, exhaling audibly. "Elissa grew up here?" Her gaze was drawn upward. Alistair followed her gaze and saw that the hallways of the castle were left open to the air—no ceiling obstructed the view of the night's stars. "It's . . . it's beautiful," Solona said in a whisper.

The castle walls were covered with ivy, and Alistair supposed he could imagine it being a pretty setting, if it weren't for all the smoke and dead bodies lying around to muck up the joint. He raised an eyebrow and started to make a sarcastic remark to Solona, but the words died in his throat when he caught her awed expression. He felt a little twinge of remorse for the poor girl. He could imagine how sheltered the life of a Circle Mage could be. From what he'd seen of the Tower, it wasn't all that different from his life in the Chantry.

The boom of thunder reached their ears and the hair on the back of Alistair's neck stood up.

Solona must have felt it too. "Magic!" she said, and that was all the agreement they needed to take off down the hall in the direction of the fighting.

They rounded a bend and the sound grew suddenly much louder, escaping as it did from an open doorway in front of them. From the looks of it, the room was the great hall, set in the center of the ancient fortress.

He heard a very familiar sounding bark, and that was all he needed to propel him through the door. He skidded to a halt as a crack of lightning whipped out in front of him, and he ducked behind a pillar, dragging Solona with him.

The soldiers of Castle Cousland were in a pitched battle with Arl Howe's men in the great hall. They seemed to be evenly matched in numbers, but the Arl had somehow managed to acquire himself a mage, and the caster was wreaking havoc on the castle's forces.

"What the hell is this?" Solona yelled over the din. "Where's Elissa?"

He shrugged, and then leaned over to look around the pillar, scanning the room for Elissa.

He saw her and his heart leapt to his throat as he watched her climb on top of a chair, making for an enormously easy target, as she sighted down the arrow she'd drawn. She looked just as she did when he'd met her back at Ostagar—hair unbound and falling down her back like a golden river and wearing that bloodstained and tattered green dress and chainmail that had so confused him at their first meeting.

He watched as she drew the bowstring back and sighted down the arrow, wanting to call out a warning to get  _down,_  but his breath caught in his throat and the next thing he knew the arrow flew out from her hand. It zipped straight to the mage, landing directly in the woman's left eye. The woman's head jerked back, and then she fell over dead.

A warm rush of pride at Elissa's amazing shot flowed through him, and he turned to shout out his approval but she was already off the chair and moving with a quickness toward the center of the room. "Elissa!" he shouted, but she didn't seem to hear him. He turned to Solona and grabbed her arm. "Come on!" he said, rushing after Elissa.

Solona joined him and they made their way deeper into the room, stepping over bodies of the fallen—it looked like both sides had suffered casualties from the even distribution of Cousland and Howe heraldry.

He was about to call out to her again when he saw that she spoke with a red-haired knight. As he and Solona drew close, he watched with an odd and icy sensation in his chest as the handsome man reached out to graze Elissa's cheek tenderly with the fingertips of his right hand.

Alistair froze in place.

An older woman dressed in leather armor and with a bow strapped to her back stepped up to Elissa and tried to drag her away, but Elissa yanked her arm away from her and turned back to Rory.

_Because that's who it had to be_ , Alistair realized, remembering the silence that had fallen in the Korcari Wilds when Jory had brought up the name of the man Duncan had gone to Highever to recruit. He had wondered idly at the time if she'd had a relationship with the young man, given her apparent grief, but he'd forgotten all about that possibility in recent days.

His mind stuttered to a stop as he looked up to see Elissa grab at Rory's shoulders and pull him into a deep and passionate kiss.

"Um, who is  _that_?"

His mouth was far too dry to even try to answer, and the blood rushing to his head made logical thought impossible as Rory pulled Elissa closer to him and continued to assault her mouth with his lips and tongue.

He would have liked nothing better for the ground to open up beneath him and swallow him whole if it meant that he would no longer have to feel this sickening rage and nausea.

"Oh, wow," he heard Solona say from somewhere next to him. "That's . . .  _awkward_."

He finally managed to clear his throat. "Um . . . yeah."

After what felt like several long, dreadful ages Elissa pulled away from Rory (no, the  _demon_ , he mentally corrected himself) and the older woman—she had to be Elissa's mother, Alistair realized with a sudden pang—grabbed her hand and started to lead her away.

And then Elissa let out the most mournful and painful wail Alistair had ever heard a living being make, and the bitter and petty jealousy he had felt only seconds before fled him in a wave of sympathy for the woman he cared about. It was enough to shake off his stupor and he rushed forward and pulled at Elissa's other arm.

"Elissa!" he cried, and she turned her tear-stained face to him. He didn't think she really saw him through the haze of grief he could see still lingered in her eyes. "Elissa," he said again more softly, stepping closer to her. "Do you remember me?"

She stared up at him blankly, but then her brow creased with a hint of recognition. "Alistair?" she said, sounding utterly confused. "Wait . . . how do I know you?"

The demon masquerading as Elissa's mother pulled on her other arm. "Come  _on_ , Elissa," she said sharply. "We have to escape! We don't have time for this."

Elissa pulled herself out of her mother's grasp and then turned to stare up at Alistair again. She shook her head and glared at him through red-rimmed eyes. "I don't understand."

Alistair's tongue felt too-large in his mouth. He couldn't find the words to explain what was going on, to convince her that these horrible events weren't real—considering they  _were_ , only she'd already been through this torture once already. He turned to Solona. "Can you make her understand?" he whispered. "Like you did for me?"

Solona glanced sideways at Elissa and opened her mouth to answer, but Elissa's mother screeched out at that exact moment. "No! You are not supposed to be here!" Elissa's mother's eyes flashed a glowing red and the demon pointed a suddenly bony hand at Solona. "You! Get out! Get out of here!"

They found themselves beset by all of the Castle's guards, and all of their eyes started to glow an otherworldly glow.

"Maker's balls!" Alistair drew his sword and tried to put himself between Elissa and her 'mother.' "This looks bad. This looks really,  _really_  bad." They'd only been attacked by a handful of demons when Solona had snapped him out of his dream. Now they looked to be surrounded by more than a dozen. "Can you do something?"

Solona gave a sigh that seemed to come from some place bone-deep inside her. "I can actually. Just . . . don't freak out on me."

He cocked his head to the side, wondering what on earth she could be talking about, when Solona reached out and grabbed both his and Elissa's arms.

He felt the same paralysis from before, only this time there was no pedestal. The world swirled around him and everything seemed to bend and warp in his vision, and when he realized they were about to teleport he winced his eyes shut.

Her heard Elissa gasp and felt her let go of his arm. When he opened his eyes, he saw the familiar hazy landscape of the Fade. It was a different area than he and Solona had been in before, however. He could see what looked like an apparition of a door in the middle distance—it was oddly transparent, and surrounded by a deep purple cloud.

Elissa slid down to the ground and he knelt in front of her, his confusion replaced quickly with overwhelming concern. "Elissa?"

She stared sightlessly at some point fixed beyond him and said nothing. When he waved a hand in front of her face he still got no reaction.

"Give her a moment," he heard Solona say dryly from behind him.

Her sardonic voice brought him crashing back to reality. With a smooth motion he rose and unsheathed his sword, only to turn and point it menacingly at Solona's neck. He felt his blood pounding in his head in fear and panic at what was happening, but he could hold on to this one true thing in this infuriatingly ethereal place, and that was his certainty that Solona had been lying to him this whole time.

" _Explain yourself_. How the hell did you get us out of there without a pedestal? Don't even try to tell me it was  _spirit magic_  either." He pressed the point of his sword even closer to Solona's throat.

Her eyes went wide and then they narrowed and she let out a noisy exhale. "I told you not to freak out," she said wryly.

He shot her a black look. "Solona . . . "

"Alright fine!" she said, throwing up her hands in surrender. "I'll tell you everything. Just remember, I  _saved you_ , alright? I'm not the bad guy here?"

He couldn't really come up with a single thing she'd done that was evil or mean. He scowled down at her angrily for a few more seconds before pulling his sword away and resheathing it.

"Fine," he said, crossing his arms to his chest. "I'm listening."

TO BE CONTINUED…


	24. Fade, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair comes to terms with his experience in the Fade.

_How could you be what I wanna see?_ _  
__When my reality_ _  
__Could never live up, could never live up_ _  
__To the fantasy_

— _Fantasy,_ MS MR

"Alright," Solona said, clearing her throat. "First things first—just relax. I'm human, alright? I'm not a demon or a spirit or . . . anything like that."

Alistair frowned. She sounded sincere, but really, what did he know? He glanced down at Elissa, but his fellow warden still sat there, staring off into the distance, a completely blank look on her tear-stained face. It appeared he was on his own for now. He gave a shrug. "If you say so. But that doesn't explain—"

She held up a hand. "I'm getting there." She cocked her head to the side and furrowed her brow at him. "How much do you know about what happened here?"

It made Alistair's blood burn when he thought of who was responsible for yet another tragedy in Ferelden. "I know enough," he spat out. "I know  _Loghain_  is involved."

"He sure does have his fingers in a lot of pots, doesn't he?" Solona said, cocking her head to the side and shooting him a crooked smile. He wasn't in the mood for jokes for once though, and so he maintained his stone-faced gaze. Her smile faltered before she rolled her eyes and went on. "Anyway, there was a meeting—those things are usually total snooze fests. But this time . . . I don't know what happened, really, but all of a sudden Uldred was casting and a bunch of mages streamed into the meeting chamber and attacked. That's when we discovered that the Circle was infested with blood mages."

Alistair shook his head, feeling impatient. "Yeah, Wynne told us all this. Solona, what—"

She held up both hands this time. "I'm  _getting_  to it, I swear." She took another deep breath. "Uldred, that complete idiot, he tried summoning . . . something or other, and then . . . well, whatever it was got the better of him, because he changed."

"Changed how?"

"He became an abomination." Alistair couldn't repress a shudder at the idea. "A few of us fled when that happened," she said with a shrug. "I don't know. I guess we thought we could regroup and Niall said if we could get the Litany of Adralla from the stockroom we might have a fighting chance." She looked at something behind him, and her face crumpled.

He turned around and noticed for the first time the body of a man dressed in blue and gold robes lying still on the ground a short distance from them. He started to move toward him but Solona grabbed his arm. "It's too late for Niall, unfortunately."

Her deep brown eyes were glassy with tears, and he couldn't help feeling a pang of sympathy—being so intimately familiar with loss and grief, it was hard to ignore their signs in Solona's eyes. But, he had to remember that she had  _lied_  to him . . . "Alright, so get on with it," he gruffed and shook her arm off. "What happened?"

Her gaze hardened and she took a step backward. "So the Litany," she said, running a hand through her chin-length hair. "Reciting it can help guard against blood mage mind control. We thought we could use it to take care of Uldred's cronies, and then we'd take on . . . whatever it was he's become. But we weren't sure where the blood mages were, so we split up to look. Niall never made it back to our rendezvous point, so I went to search for him and that's when I discovered the Sloth demon."

"So you got trapped here like we did?"

Solona smoothed the skirt of her robes with her hands. "Not exactly." She paused for a few heart beats before clearing her throat and continuing. "I could . . . sense the demon, and I figured out what happened before I entered the room at the top of the tower. So I hid myself in a wardrobe and . . ." She licked her lips. ". . . and that's when I went into the Fade  _myself_  to look for Niall."

Alistair heard a gasp from behind him and whirled to see Elissa staring at Solona with wide eyes. He reached out a hand to help her stand, and she met his gaze for an instant before looking away. He felt his stomach muscles tighten, but a moment later she took his hand, studiously avoiding making eye contact.

"You can enter the Fade at will?" she asked when she got to her feet, before dropping his hand and taking a step toward the other woman.

The mage's eyes went wide for a fraction of a second but then she nodded. "That's right. I can."

The breath Elissa inhaled was audible. "Then that means . . .  _Maker's breath_ , how is that possible? You're not even an elf! I mean, I suppose you  _could_  have an elven ancestor. Certainly not your parents though," she said looking pointedly  _up_  at the other woman, who stood about a head and half taller than Elissa.

Solona crossed her arms and scowled down at the shorter woman. "How should I know? I don't even know my parents' first names, let alone anything about them," she snapped.

Elissa blanched at Solona's caustic tone. "Of course, how stupid of me," she said quickly, tucking a stray hair behind her ear and looking away.

Alistair shook his head. "What are you two talking about? What does Solona being an elf or not have to do with anything?"

" _Because_ ," Elissa said with an exasperated (and yet also, strangely delighted) expression. She gestured at Solona. "She's  _somniari_. Obviously."

The word didn't mean anything to him, and so her explanation failed to explain, and yet Alistair felt enormously comforted anyway. For one thing, Elissa didn't seem all that frightened of whatever a  _somniari_ was, but more importantly than  _that_  she had snapped out of whatever fugue state she'd been in and she was  _functioning_ , thank the Maker. He didn't want to have to make any more decisions on his own if he could help it.

Solona snorted. " _Of course_ , you would know about dreamers _,_ " she said, shaking her head. "Maker, you know a lot about magic for a mundane."

Elissa scowled at the moniker, but before she could react Alistair coughed. "Will someone fill  _this_  mundane in? Is this some kind of forbidden magic, or what?"

"Not so much forbidden as  _forgotten_ ," Elissa said.

"—but to the Templars that amounts to the same thing," Solona said pointedly.

Elissa inclined her head. "I suppose that's true." She turned back to Alistair. " _Somniari_ —or dreamers—have a special ability to enter the Fade whenever they want—without the use of lyrium or blood magic," she added, giving Alistair a significant look. "Legend says that the ancient elves of Arlathan had this ability, and some speculate that it was this practice that gave them their long lives—though no one knows for sure because the magic was thought to be extinct." She frowned at Solona, and gnawed on her lower lip, and Alistair saw no vestiges of the all-encompassing grief and despair from before. He had to wonder if he shouldn't thank Solona for providing Elissa with this little distraction.

"It's not at all extinct," Solona said. "There are magisters in Tevinter capable of this kind of magic, too. It's not just limited to elves." After a beat, she added. "Or so I've heard."

Elissa's upper lip curled into a hint of a sneer. "Yes, well, Tevinter has a more . . . liberal attitude toward magic than most other Andrastan nations."

Alistair shook his head. "Why didn't you just tell me the truth?"

Solona gave him a bug-eyed look. "Are you kidding,  _Templar_?" She gaped at him in what looked like honest surprise. "I've never told this to a  _single soul_ before in my life. Do you have any idea how much trouble I'd be in if this secret got out? The Templars fear any magic they can't explain or control—"

"But they would have good reason to fear  _you_ ," Elissa said, crossing her arms to her chest and glaring up at Solona. "Wouldn't they?"

Solona opened her mouth and closed it, looking away from them, and he saw that it was true.

"Why?" Alistair asked, creasing his brow in confusion.

Elissa raised her eyebrows and stared at Solona, apparently waiting for her to explain, but the mage just glared off in the distance not saying anything. Finally, Elissa took a deep breath and turned back to Alistair. "Because mages like Solona can enter other people's dreams and control them—even  _kill_  them."

It felt like ice had been shot into his veins. The idea of such an assault was terrifying. He remembered Solona's warning from before. "Have you ever done that? Gone into someone's dream without their permission?"

She looked back at them with a hooded expression before lowering her gaze and frowning at the ground at her feet. "Not on purpose, but yes. Once.  _Once._  And it was something I told myself I would  _never_  do again. And I didn't." She looked up at them with a hard glint in her eye. "Until today.  _You're welcome_  by the way."

Elissa gave an indignant huff beside him." You can't blame us for being suspicious. This is an  _enormously_  powerful ability—"

"Yeah, it's also  _enormously_  annoying. How would you like being plagued by lucid nightmares every single damn time you fell asleep?" Alistair and Elissa shared a look—Solona caught it and snorted. "Right. Forgot who I was talking to. Of course you know what that's like. You're wardens."

"How do you know about that?" Alistair asked sharply.

Solona sighed. "Look, that's another long story, but suffice it to say I once had a vested interest in learning about your order." She shook her head. "Anyway, the thing about being . . . what I am . . . is that it makes me a  _very_  attractive, um . . .  _host_."

"You mean for demonic possession," Elissa said with a grimace. It was a statement, not a question.

Solona nodded, looking at the ground at their feet. "Ever since I can remember I've been plagued by horrible dreams. Demons constantly try to tempt me in the Fade with visions and nightmares you wouldn't believe." She shook her head, and her voice became quiet. "I could never understand why it seemed  _so_  much harder for me than for other mages . . . I thought that I was just . . . phenomenally weak, or something." She fell silent for a few heartbeats, before clearing her throat and going on in a stronger voice. "You have no idea how close I came to being made tranquil before I learned how to control it."

Silence hung between them while the reality of Solona's situation set in.

Elissa made a soft snort. "Well, you mustn't be all  _that_  weak then, if you survived a Harrowing and all this. In fact you're likely an  _uncommonly_  strong-willed mage, by all evidence," she said, in a matter-of-fact tone.

Alistair couldn't help smiling to himself when Solona flushed in response. He understood the effect his fellow warden's heartfelt and completely  _certain_ pronouncements could have on a person.

Elissa cocked her head to the side and continued in a curious tone, "How  _did_  you learn to control it anyway? It couldn't have been easy."

Solona picked at her robe, seemingly finding invisible pieces of lint to remove. "No, no, it wasn't." She shrugged. "It's . . . hard to explain. I just sort of . . . got it one day—that I could control more than I realized."

Alistair squinted at her. It seemed to him that she was carefully picking her words, but he had no idea why that might be. He looked to Elissa, who nodded thoughtfully and then seemed to come to a decision. "Fair enough. I believe you." She opened her mouth to continue, but then caught herself and shot a quick look at Alistair. "What about you?"

His eyes went wide at the surprise consultation, but he smothered his initial reaction ( _Who me?_ ) and answered her truthfully. "I . . . think I believe her too." He gave a little shrug. "And then there's also the whole thing where we don't have much of a choice, anyway."

Elissa's lips quirked into a smile, but she still only met his gaze for a fraction of a second before turning back to Solona. "Just so," she said. "We believe you. Can you get us out of here now?"

Solona shook her head. "It's not that easy. The demon is actually  _in_  the tower, though he still has a foothold in the Fade. If we were to wake he'd simply put you back in the Fade again, and as for me . . ." She looked at them with an apologetic wince. "You  _really_  don't want the demon getting his hooks into  _me_."

Elissa looked at her sharply. "I thought demons couldn't possess you without your consent?"

"Well, sure, but you've seen what kind of head games these guys are capable of." Solona hugged her arms to her chest. "I really don't want his undivided attention, thank you very much."

Elissa gave a deep sigh, but then seemed to accept the reality of their situation with a shrug. "So what do we do next?"

Solona gestured at Alistair. "Like we talked about—we need to go kill all of the other minor demons, and then we go after Sloth—"

"What about Wynne and Prince?" Elissa asked as she started to paw through the satchel at her hip.

Alistair and Solona shared a look. He took a deep breath. "Well, we had to leave one person in a dream so the demon wouldn't come after us . . ."

Elissa stopped rifling through her belongings and looked up at him. "Why didn't you leave me dreaming and go get Wynne?"

"Well, I—"

"It was random," Solona interjected, before giving a little shrug. "Didn't know which one of you I'd get. Had to toss the dice and you got lucky."

Elissa considered this for a moment. "Can't say I mind the result," she mumbled to herself as she started to reach in her bag again. Suddenly, she froze. "Wait, what about Prince?"

Solona scratched her head. "Yeah, I don't know  _where_  he is. I could have sworn there were only three dreamers left—"

"He was in my dream with me!" Elissa gasped.

Solona cocked her head to the side a moment before nodding to herself. "The demon put you in the same dream . . . that's actually rather efficient. Makes sense."

Elissa took a few steps forward and grabbed Solona's arms. "We can't just leave him there! We have to go back and get him!"

Solona lifted her arms and freed herself from Elissa's frantic grasp. "I can't just pop back in there! It's too dangerous. I've already altered way too much and if I do anymore I risk getting Sloth's attention—"

"You  _cannot_  just leave him there," Elissa pleaded.

At the wavering in her voice Alistair felt his throat thicken. He understood that meeting Elissa's request would risk getting the attention of the demon (and a small part of his mind chided himself for even considering it, when they'd barely batted an eyelash at the idea of Wynne being left behind) but . . . the look on Elissa's face seemed to override his reason. "Can't you just hop back real quick and get him?" he asked hopefully.

Solona looked from Elissa to Alistair and back again before giving a bone-deep sigh of resignation. "Alright,  _fine_. But this is the last time we do this without a pedestal . . . it's far too risky."

"Right, we get it. Just one—" Before he could finish speaking, Solona vanished. "—more time," he finished lamely, before letting out a breath and turning to look at Elissa.

Her eyes met his only briefly before she looked away, absentmindedly running a hand through her hair and then fidgeting with her satchel.

In the awkward silence that followed the image of her wrapped in the arms of the red-haired knight flew to his mind, and with its return so did all the questions he so badly wanted answered but could in no way bring himself to ask of her.

If he'd hoped for an explanation, she didn't appear ready to give one. She occupied herself by sorting through the items in her satchel, though Alistair would swear she had no real purpose in doing so other than to avoid talking to him. He found himself wishing he had a similar distraction. Instead, he was forced to simply stand there with his head a riot of questions.

 _Who was that knight to her_ really _? Were they . . . together? And where was he now? Did he perish with everyone else?_

It was enough to make his head ache, and when he thought back to his own dream he was embarrassed by not only the things he'd said in front of Solona, but also his own thoughts.

This entire encounter proved that he barely knew her. Perhaps the madness of the dream had made him imagine a greater depth of feeling than he really felt. He'd only  _just_  met her, and she apparently trusted him so little she hadn't even bothered to confide in him at all . . . not really. He didn't know a single thing about her life before the wardens, he realized with a jolt. How could he believe himself on the verge of falling for someone he barely knew?

It must have been just another lie of the demon's dream, he concluded. She  _obviously_  had feelings for the man she kissed ( _and that was a real kiss, not the chaste and awkward and far too brief meeting of their own lips_ ) and that meant that whatever he might've felt, it was unlikely that she reciprocated—

"What was your dream about?"

He looked over to see her staring at him with those large green eyes of hers. Her eyes were glued to his now, and he got the feeling his answer to this question was very important. His throat went dry. He'd have deflected her question with a joke if he could have thought of one, but looking into that earnest face of hers . . . well, he didn't really have any grounds to refuse her, did he? Especially given the fact that he'd been an unwilling witness to what was no doubt an intimate and miserable moment she'd have rather not have shared with him, given the choice. . .

"I have a half-sister," he mumbled and gave a little shrug. "She lives in Denerim . . . I . . . I've never met her, but the demon made me think I knew her. That I . . . lived with her and her kids."

Elissa blinked up at him, a little line forming between her eyebrows. "But . . . that doesn't sound so bad . . ."

He swallowed again, reluctant to explain, given the implications . . . "Yeah, well, I guess the demon doesn't always put you in a nightmare. It's just . . . whatever gets the biggest emotional reaction, apparently."

"Oh," she said quietly, and he felt his pulse thrum in his throat as she finally met his gaze and kept it. He didn't know what he read exactly in her gaze—there was faint surprise and perhaps . . . something else? He'd opened his mouth to say something,  _anything,_ to get her to start talking to him, but just then Solona reappeared, Elissa's mabari at her side.

Prince gave a loud  _woof_ and Elissa dropped to her knees in front of the beast and buried her face in the fur at his neck. "Oh, Prince," she said, voice thick with tears.

He met Solona's gaze above Elissa's head and they came to a silent agreement to give her a moment as she sobbed into the dog's fur. He stepped aside and pulled Solona with him, struck once again by his irritation with the duplicitous mage. "Why did you lie back then? About not knowing which dreamer we'd get?" He was vaguely aware that his irritation was both misdirected and disproportional, but he couldn't help the edge that crept into his tone.

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Uh, I think the words you're looking for are  _thank you, Solona, for helping me avoid a horribly awkward moment_."

He flushed, remembering again the things he'd said in front of Solona. "I . . . right, thanks, I guess. Just . . . just no more lies, alright?"

Solona rolled her eyes but her retort was cut off by Elissa, coughing and getting to her feet. They turned as one to look at her. "Well?" she said, wiping the back of her hand across her eyes. "What next?" She looked at them both coolly, and once again Alistair felt a swell of relief that she was there with him.

Solona waggled her eyebrows exaggeratedly at them, a very satisfied smile on her lips. "Now we get to have some  _fun_."

* * *

Solona's definition of  _fun_ differed greatly from Alistair's. While his idea of a rollicking time would include tossing back a few mugs of ale and spinning tales by a campfire, for the strange Circle mage fun apparently involved shape-shifting and navigating the dizzyingly confusing maze of corridors that made up this dreadful section of the Fade.

Alistair quickly gave up either trying to shape shift himself (Solona had managed to teach the skill to Elissa, but he had no patience for it, apparently) or trying to keep a mental map in his head of where they were going.

Navigating the Sloth demon's domain was an exercise in problem solving and spatial relations that he had no head for. He left figuring out where to go next to the two women, who seemed to understand the complicated layout better than he.

Once Solona had been to a section of the Fade she was able to pop back over and 'pick up' Alistair. Apparently such short little trips within each sub-domain weren't noticeable enough to be a problem. So, at times Elissa and Solona would leave him to travel through a tiny mouse hole, only to pop back up beside him a few minutes later so that Solona could grab him and teleport them all to where ever they needed to go next.

Unfortunately that left him with a lot of time by himself, and whenever he was alone he found his mind raced with questions that he knew he really  _shouldn't_  focus on, considering their current situation. And yet . . . what else could he do as he was left twiddling his thumbs while Solona and Elissa solved the Fade's many puzzles?

And what puzzles they were. They included fade portals and hidden doors and secret rooms and the lot of it bored him to  _tears_ , but Elissa was near giddy with the thrill of each new discovery. The two women gained more shape-shifting abilities to go with their mouse forms—a spirit form that could cast spells, as well as a fiery form that looked like a burning ghoul.

The more abilities they gained, the more useless he felt. The worst example was after teleporting to an area Solona had called  _The Mages Asunder_  (though he had no idea who or what had named it, or what the name really even meant) and he was forced to wait for what felt like almost an hour, as he couldn't go past even the first room since it was surrounded by a blazing fire.

The girls finally came back to collect him and take him to yet another  _essence_ —Solona had explained that the ethereal contraptions were basically attributes made corporeal, and that by touching them they could absorb the quality into themselves.

"This one's a font of strength," Elissa explained. "I thought you might want it."

"Why? I thought we agreed they did you more good than me?" He hadn't really meant to snap at her, but he'd been left alone with his thoughts for the better part of an hour, and her giddy good mood was grating at his nerves.

Elissa shrugged and lowered her gaze. The hint of color appeared on her cheeks. "I'm not going to fit into my armor if I get any bigger," she said, raising an eyebrow at him.

He couldn't help letting his gaze rake over her figure at  _that_ , and whether he'd been too occupied with his own thoughts or if he'd just been too busy studiously avoiding eye contact with her before, it was only in that moment that he noticed that her figure  _had_  changed—not dramatically, perhaps, but to someone who was familiar with her petite curves, the slight widening of her shoulders and biceps became glaringly obvious.

Whether it was the realization that he  _was_  perhaps a bit overly familiar with those petite curves (he  _didn't_  stare, not really, he swore to himself) or the little giggle that she emitted at his scrutiny, he couldn't be sure, but something pushed his irritation over the edge into true anger. "Wow, you're in good mood, considering everything," he said, not even trying to mask the reproach in his tone.

He regretted his words an instant later, when Elissa's head snapped up and she glared at him. "Is that a problem?" she asked, voice as brittle as glass and her posture suddenly stiff. "Would you prefer me to be weeping and blubbering? Is that it?"

Alistair let out a breath and felt his agitation wither. He supposed most people wouldn't have noticed, but he couldn't deny the hurt tone he'd heard just beneath the surface of her sharp reply.

What the hell was wrong with him? He was all too familiar with her capacity for self-criticism, and he also knew how much she valued her mental stability. And here he was, poking at both.

"No, no of course not," he said, hoping the words sounded as heartfelt as he meant them. "I'm sorry, Elissa. I just . . . I'm just on edge. I'm not used to feeling so damn  _helpless_  all the time."

At his admission she stilled and met his gaze cautiously, and then a little rueful smile crept over her lips. "It's not a fun feeling, is it?" she said, all traces of her anger now gone.

He knew exactly what she was thinking, and he felt enormously guilty. It was no wonder she reveled in her newfound abilities, considering how often she must have felt powerless compared to her companions.

"You've  _never_  been useless," he said, and Elissa blushed and looked away at his sudden fervor, and in spite of everything he found himself smiling down at her. In that instant, he realized he'd been a fool to convince himself that he didn't know her. He did. Whether it made sense or not, he  _got_  her, maybe even better than she understood herself.

He opened his mouth to apologize but she turned back to him and said suddenly, "I've been thinking." He snapped his mouth shut. "After all this is over, you and I should have a talk." He felt dread circle its way around his heart as a dozen potential conversation topics—none of them pleasant—seemed to rush through his brain at once. She looked up at him then and gave him a little smile. "About looking up your sister when we're in Denerim."

His mouth gaped open. "Could we?" he asked, his voice rising in excitement. He coughed and tried to appear a little more subdued. "I mean, I'd appreciate that. If something happened to her and I never went to at least see her, I don't know if I could forgive myself."

"Of course," she said quietly, giving him another small smile and glancing up at him under dark lashes.

He couldn't help the way his expression softened as he looked at her, feeling his affection for her warm his chest. The realization that it was still there, and thus not a product of the Sloth demon's fantasy, was both comforting and disquieting, he realized as Elissa blushed at his scrutiny and turned away from him.

He stifled the sigh that threatened to escape him. Reality was so much more complicated than the fantasy of his dream.  _  
_

He'd choose reality over the promises of the Fade anyday though, he admitted to himself. And, he thought with a small smile, the promise Elissa had given him to help him find his sister was a real one, too. It made him wonder about other possibilities being real, and with that thought he shook off his malaise and threw himself into the work of escaping the Fade, eager to get back to the reality that awaited him, no matter how dire or complicated it proved to be.


	25. Wake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elissa and the rest of the party awaken from the Fade and have to deal with Uldred.

_No more dreaming of the dead as if death itself was undone_

_No more calling like a crow for a boy for a body in the garden_

— _Blinding,_ Florence + the Machine

"What's this one?" Elissa asked, nodding at the apparatus before them. It was clearly an essence or a font, but it didn't look like any of the others they'd encountered.

Solona's eyes went unfocused for a few seconds before she gave a little nod. "It's an essence of willpower."

Alistair stole a glance at Elissa. "So what? It makes you  _more_  stubborn?"

She did her best to ignore him and simply stared at the apparatus, feeling the hint of a blush on her cheek.

Solona coughed. "Maybe? It . . . increases mental fortitude, basically. "

Elissa couldn't stop her head from snapping up to look at her companions, already annoyed at the suggestion she just  _knew_  was coming, but neither of them were looking at her. They both just stared at the apparatus with a sort of tentative . . . longing.

"Oh," she said quietly, eyes going wide. They stood there in silence for the span of a few heartbeats. "Well," she said at last. "Who can't use that?"

They drew straws for it, and when she won Alistair didn't have any teasing words.

Ordinarily emerging from the Fade was a gradual process. The mind would become conscious in a series of steps beginning with dull sensation and then slowly progress to full wakefulness.

Escaping the Fade from a conscious state really wasn't like "waking up" at all, Elissa thought as her eyes flew open and she realized she was lying on cold, corporeal stone. It was more like blinking your eyes and having the whole world change in a heartbeat around you.

The floor pressed uncomfortably into her hip and the side of her head. She turned onto her back and stretched and the entire right side of her body seemed to scream in pain for a few seconds before the sting faded to a dull sort of ache.

She took a deep breath, and with that inhalation came another host of sensations. Chief among them was the return of the constant and ravenous hunger that came from never ever having enough to eat, in addition to the myriad of lingering injuries she'd acquired and the exhaustion that plagued every second of her waking existence. These sensations had been blessedly absent in the Fade, which she supposed made sense, given that they were physically still  _here_  and what she thought of as her body in the Fade was only a mental manifestation of her personality—

"Elissa." Alistair suddenly loomed over her.

She sat up with a jolt, turning her head away. Seeing him brought back everything  _else_ —not just her memories but also her grief, that endless sorrow that she tried so hard to keep to herself. It had been difficult but manageable—barely—before, because she'd been able to keep her secrets her own. But now, Alistair  _knew_  . . . He'd seen what happened. He had to know . . .

_Maker, what he must think of me?_

And that was going to be one straw too many, she knew, and as she sat there on the floor and squeezed her eyes shut, feeling like it was all finally and absolutely  _too much_ , she wasn't sure if she was going to be able to stand under the weight of it all.

"Elissa," Alistair repeated. "We have to find Solona."

Her head snapped up. Solona had been in the Fade longer than any of them. She could be lying somewhere weak and dying.

_Right. Solona. The Litany . . . the mages!_

Elissa's heart beat loudly in her chest as she took the hand Alistair offered, giving it a silent squeeze of thanks (not that she could begin to explain it) for such a perfect distraction from that deep, black wave of grief that threatened to drown her. She pulled her hand out of his and whirled around to rapidly scan the room. Wynne sat up and placed a hand to her forehead, and the body of what had to be Niall lay impossibly still nearby—but there was no sign of Solona anywhere.

A wet nose pressed into her hand and she startled, looking down at her mabari. She snapped her fingers in delight. "Prince, find Solona!"

The dog's ears perked up at her command and a second later he was bounding out of the room.

She raced after him, calling over her shoulder at Alistair, who still stood speechless in the center of the room. "Find the Litany on Niall!"

She heard Prince bark excitedly from the room just across the hall and she ran in after him, nearly tripping over the bodies of the Templars that were piled by the door. At the last second she leapt and landed neatly on the other side, hardly feeling the jolt of the floor when it rose to meet her feet. She paused a second, a half-smile her lips. Those essences in the Fade were already paying off. . .

All thoughts of her recent improvements fled when Prince barked again and jumped at the large standing closet off to the left. She raced over and opened it, and the still form of Solona tumbled out.

Her heart was in her throat for a few seconds as she struggled under the weight of the Circle mage, who flopped out of the wardrobe in a boneless heap. Tears sprung to her eyes at the other woman's apparently lifeless body, but then Solona jerked awake with a gasp and clawed at Elissa's arms to right herself.

"Solona!" Elissa cried, as the mage managed to stand. The overwhelming relief that washed over her surprised her, and before she quite knew what she was doing she had pulled Solona into a tight embrace. "You're alive!" she mumbled into her shoulder, her voice unexpectedly thick with tears.

"Uh, yeah," Solona said, patting Elissa awkwardly on the back before gently pushing her away by the shoulders. "What  _is it_ with you two and unwanted affection?" she asked, lips quirking into a smile.

That made Elissa blink rapidly in confusion for a few seconds, but she was proud of herself for not blurting out the first thing that came to mind ( _What did he_ do _?_ ). Besides, Solona had a point.

"I'm sorry," Elissa said, taking a step backward. "I just . . . I'm just tired of losing people," she finished quietly.

Solona shot Elissa a look out of the corner of her eye. After a moment, her shoulders seemed to relax and she gave a sad smile of her own. "Yeah, I know what you mean."

Elissa frowned and looked away, biting her lip to keep from snapping that there was  _no possible way_  that was true. A petty squabble over who grieved more would be an unimportant distraction at the moment that she could not afford to indulge in.

Alistair and Wynne appeared in the doorway and just like that she was back on track. "Did you get the Litany?"

Alistair ignored her question. "Solona! You're alright," he said, gingerly stepping over the corpses and then turning to help Wynne.

Elissa took a deep breath and closed her eyes, before opening them. "Did you get the litany?" she asked again, pointedly emphasizing each word as Alistair and Wynne joined them.

"Yes, we got it. But . . . I'm not really sure what good it'll do." He produced a scroll and unfurled it, scanning the text. "It looks like just a page of verses."

Elissa turned to Solona. "How does it work?"

Solona frowned and stepped closer to Alistair to peer at the scroll over his arm, cocking her head to the side. "Well, it's not magic that I recognize. But I'd guess it functions like an incantation." She looked at Alistair. "Maybe it operates on the same principles as Templar abilities?"

Alistair's face pulled into a thoughtful frown as he considered Solona's conjecture.

Elissa took a sharp, audible breath.  _Maker,_   _I'm surrounded by idiots,_ she thought, knowing it was unkind and probably untrue but not feeling particularly generous at the moment. " _No_. I don't mean  _how_  it works," she said through clenched teeth. "I mean,  _how do we use it?"_

"Oh," Solona said, and Elissa couldn't help the swell of guilt she felt when the Circle mage stammered and flushed. "We . . . we just need to recite it."

"Recite it?" Alistair said, his voice suddenly high. "What? I'm going to stand there and read from this while a blood mage is rending everyone in the room? How's that—"

Elissa snatched the scroll out of Alistair's hand and then took several deliberate paces away from the others, and bent her head to read the words, murmuring them to herself as she did.

"—going to work?" Alistair finished in a bemused tone. "Elissa, what are you—"

She held up her hand in the air without taking her eyes off the paper. "Stop talking," she snapped, aware that she was being unforgivably rude, but also knowing that she had to bring all of her considerable focus toward one single purpose at that moment. She didn't have time to manage other people's feelings.

Whether the others tried to talk to her again or merely waited in pissed-off silence, Elissa didn't know and didn't care, as she spent the next few minutes committing the five hundred or so words to memory. When she was satisfied, she turned on her heel and handed the scroll back to Alistair, meeting his inquisitive gaze with a cool one of her own. "Alright, I'm ready. Let's go."

Alistair's eyes narrowed but the hint of a smile appeared on his lips.

Wynne snorted. "You . . . are you trying to tell us you just memorized the entire Litany of Adralla?"

Elissa stared evenly at the elder mage and simply started reciting the prayer as her proof.

Both mages huddled near Alistair as the three of them read along with her recitation. She couldn't help the small smile their shocked faces elicited.

Alistair gave a low whistle and then looked up at her with bright eyes when she finished. " _Maker_ , Elissa. It's lucky we have you along."

The words twisted bitterly in her gut. "Yeah,  _this_  is why my mother and Rory sacrificed themselves to save me," she spat out, a distant part of her mind marveling at the unfamiliar sarcasm dripping off her words like water. "My  _memorization skills_  will save the world."

The three of them gaped at her, and after a few seconds it occurred to her that it probably had more to do with the  _content_  of what she'd said than the tone she used.

She felt her stomach heave at the realization of what she'd revealed and she looked away, unable to bear the look of concern that had washed over Alistair's face. She turned to go, growling, "Let's go" over her shoulder, before exiting the room without looking back.

* * *

"Stop him . . . he . . . is building an army." The First Enchanter knelt at the center of the Harrowing Chamber, his hands bound in front of him. His voice was gravelly and weak, but the note of defiance in it made Elissa feel near faint with relief. Cullen was  _wrong_. Irving was alive and well and most indubitably  _not_  broken. "He will . . . destroy the Templars and—"

Uldred  _tsked_  him, lips curling into an oily smile. "You're a sly little fox, Irving, telling on me like that. And here I thought he was starting to turn."

"N-never," Irving said, taking a ragged breath.

Elissa barely listened to Uldred's reply as she scanned the room, trying to assess their chances. She realized with a jolt that for once her party outnumbered the enemy—Solona brought their number to five, and there were only three abominations flanking Uldred.

A thrill of something very much like anticipation went through her—their chances seemed uncommonly good, and if they could just manage to keep Irving alive she could stop worrying about fighting their way out of the Tower when the Templars came with the Rite.

So  _that_  meant that she no longer had to keep the most deadly tools in her arsenal in reserve. As she mentally tallied the various munitions, bombs and other items from her 'bag of tricks' that she'd avoided using until now, a slow grin spread over her face. Hope—an emotion she'd gotten used to living without—started to course through her.

"Enough talking," she said, grinning in malice and slowly reaching a hand into her satchel. "I wouldn't accept your surrender now even if you gave it, so it's time for you to die."

The bald mage's face contorted into something like glee. "Surrender?!" he said, and then laughed maniacally. Elissa marveled that this had been the same meek-sounding mage she'd met at the King's Council back at Ostagar. But then, Solona had said he was an abomination too. "Fight if you must!" he cackled. "It will just make my victory all the sweeter."

Elissa bit back a snort as her fingers closed around the coldest vial in her bag.  _Delusional._ They'd just fought through an entire Tower filled with blood mages, demons and abominations, and on top of  _that_ , they'd defeated a powerful Sloth demon in the Fade and lived to tell the tale.

Maker forgive her, but for the first time since this tragic ordeal had begun, Elissa felt almost cocky about her chances in an imminent fight.

That next moment seemed designed to mock her. Uldred began to pulse with light, and then the air shimmered around him and the man was no more—he'd been replaced by a gigantic, scaly, spiky demon. The thing was easily the biggest enemy they'd fought so far—it towered over them, three times their size, and the talons on its hands were as long of one of Alistair's arms.

Elissa drew the breath she'd been holding and pulled the freeze bomb out of her satchel. She chided herself to take every fight more seriously from now on. In any case, Uldred and his cronies were all that stood between her and saving the Circle Tower, so nightmarish visions of monstrosity or not, she was going to do her best to eliminate them.

"Don't forget the Litany," Wynne said as she took the staff off her back and fired a bolt of magic at the closest abomination. "It will thwart Uldred's attempts to control the mages and win this fight for us."

Elissa nodded and then tossed her freeze bomb in the direction of the two closest abominations. Her lips crooked into a smile as it landed squarely between them—the two creatures froze in place, giving her time to draw and load her cross bow with incendiary bolts.

"Prince! Alistair!" she barked out orders as she fired her weapon, edging away from the abominations and toward Irving. "You handle Uldred. Wynne, you keep us alive. Solona—"

What felt like an impossibly hot wind took her breath and kept her from finishing that command, and before Elissa could even blink, she found herself pummeled backward and into the air before landing in a painful heap . . .  _on fire_.

She screamed in agony as she rolled on the floor. The flames extinguished quickly, but the blistering pain of her burns was unlike anything she'd ever experienced. Fortunately a moment later she felt a much more pleasant kind of warmth. Wynne's healing spell washed over her, soothing her burns and healing broken and blistered skin until she only felt lightly toasted, rather than well done.

She gave herself a few heartbeats to gulp some air gratefully from the floor, before heaving herself up to a sitting position and looking around to see how the others fared. Everyone seemed to be getting to their feet, and when she looked over to where Irving and the other mages were huddled she gasped with relief. They were fine—Irving looked barely capable of breathing and yet he'd managed to cast a weak shield around the group that had protected them from the worst of Uldred's blast.

 _Right, so . . . don't underestimate Uldred._ The man must have had some rare skill with magic because he made one hell of a powerful abomination.

"Solona!" she yelled as she got to her feet. "Make sure Irving stays alive."

Solona nodded and then turned and cast a bolt of lightning at the abomination that had closed in. Elissa dropped her crossbow and drew her blades without hesitation, deftly maneuvering herself between Solona and the gruesome monster.

As she slashed through knotted and mottled flesh a curious calm settled over her. She'd heard of people going "black with rage" or "seeing red" in the heat of battle, but if she'd had to pick a color for the sort of intense battle focus she was able to achieve now it would be blue—she was cold and relentless in her attack and in a matter of moments the creature was a pile of dismembered and bloody meat at her feet.

"Do you accept the gift that I offer?" Uldred's voice boomed out and echoed off the walls of the Harrowing chamber, and a fog of white smoke billowed all around them. She turned to see the mages surrounded by rings of pulsing yellow light.

"Uldred's trying something!" she heard Wynne's voice screech out over the din of battle. "Stop him!"

She loudly chanted the prayer she'd memorized and after a few lines the lights began to waver and blink out. By the time she'd finished the rings of light and billowing smoke were gone.

Twice more as they fought she had to recite the litany, each time managing to stave off whatever dark magic Uldred was attempting to cast on the Circle mages. "I'm going to be able to recite this in my sleep!" she said with uncharacteristic good humor as she and Solona whittled the last abomination down with steel and magic. A bolt of spirit magic arced out against the abomination, finally dropping the monstrosity to the ground.

Solona finished tracing an intricate rune in the air and shot Elissa a look she couldn't read. "Ask me about that again after this."

Elissa again felt the soothing balm of healing magic, closing the gash she'd received on her left arm. She could have laughed in delight at Solona's intriguing statement but just then she looked up to see Uldred's giant fist connect with Alistair's unprotected left side— _he dropped his shield! He has to be exhausted to make that kind of mistake—_ and Alistair staggered backward unsteadily.

The sight made her throat constrict. She started running but she knew she could never make it to the demon in time. She sheathed her blades as she ran and then jabbed her hand frantically into her satchel, clawing at the bottom until her fingers closed around the right sized vial—she hoped.

Prince still harried the demon by biting at its legs, but the mabari's jaws must have been ineffectual against it armored hide, because it ignored Prince completely. The demon flicked his wrist in what looked like a dismissive gesture and Alistair was paralyzed and covered in a coating of thick white ice. Elissa's eyes bulged in panic as the demon started its lunge, raising one arm high in the air in order to bring it down on the frozen Templar in what would surely be a fatal and shattering blow.

She had no time to check—she flung the vial with all her might at the demon, her mouth full of ash. Time seemed to slow down as the tiny silver vial arced toward the demon, almost hanging in midair at the apex of her throw, before it finally crashed down to connect with the demon right below its collarbones.

White streaks of lightning erupted from the monster's chest and danced along its spiky torso, and the monster's arm fell uselessly to its side as it convulsed from the electricity flowing through its body.

Elissa could have cried in relief—for a moment she'd been sure she'd just chucked nothing but a healing potion at the fearsome demon, but a shock bomb was just about the best thing she could have pulled out of her satchel. It bought her a few precious seconds and it didn't injure Alistair—whereas a fire bomb might've.

The demon shook off the effect of the bomb and then aimed its eyeless face at her. Elissa didn't waste time shuddering—as the thing charged, her mind raced to determine trajectories and momentum. It took her less than a second to come up with her plan, and she was implementing it before she even thought about how foolish it really was.

She did not stop her advance. Instead, she sprinted forward, diving under the clawed hand that swung at her to slide underneath the demon, between the thing's legs. With a quickness she would not have been capable of before her sojourn to the Fade, she flipped herself into a crouch, drew her dagger, and then launched herself at its back before it could turn around to face her.

She lifted her dagger up as she jumped and buried it deep in the demon's back when she landed on it, scrabbling for purchase among the scales and spikes of its body. She clung to the demon's shoulder with her left hand. The demon tried to swat her off its back, but its right arm was injured and hung limply from the shoulder, and it couldn't reach her with its other hand.

She let go of the dagger stuck in the thing's back—even with her increased strength she doubted she could pull it out—before levering herself upward and onto the demon's shoulders. With a guttural cry she pulled her family's sword from its sheath at her hip.

Uldred stumbled backward and she nearly slid off, but she grabbed hold of one of the giant horns on its head just in time. Squeezing her legs around the thing's neck to steady herself she plunged her sword deep into the temple of Uldred's head, feeling bone and muscle give way in a sickening crunch.

The demon dropped to its knees and the jolt painfully reverberated up Elissa's spine. With one last heaving breath for strength she jumped off the demon before it lumbered to the ground in a deafening bang.

She stood there panting, feeling her chest burn from the exertion as she stared at the steaming corpse of the demon that had once been Uldred. The jubilation and relief she felt were nearly intoxicating—she had  _done_ it, against what had seemed like impossible odds, she had managed to defeat Uldred and save the Circle.

She whirled around to check on the others and her blood turned to ice when she caught the still form of Alistair-her victorious joy vanished in a heartbeat to be replaced by sinking panic. She gave a wordless, strangled cry before racing over and dropping to the floor next to him.

"No, no, no, no, no," she chanted as she took his head in her hands and tried to see through suddenly blurry eyes whether he was still breathing. "Don't be dead . . . you can't be dead . . ."

He stirred at her touch, and she choked out a sob in relief. His eyes fluttered open and he blinked up at her, clearly trying to focus. Finally recognition seemed to take hold and he raised his eyebrows up at her. "Elissa," he said. "I didn't know you cared."

She could have strangled him for the droll tone he'd used and the way his lips curled into an infuriating smirk. Instead she placed her hands on his shoulders and glared down at him. "You are  _not allowed_  to die, Alistair, do you hear me?" Warm hazel eyes seemed to twinkle at her in amusement, so she shook his shoulders and scowled down at him. "I'm not kidding," she said, clenching her teeth in her completely irrational anger. "I will  _never_  forgive you if you die on me.  _Never_. Do you understand?"

As she stared down at him willing her tears not to fall he shifted, and slowly brought up his arm to reach out and gently cup her cheek with his hand. She could not resist closing her eyes and sinking her head into his touch, comforted beyond reason by the contact. "Got it, Elissa," she heard him whisper, before she felt a firm hand on her shoulder.

"If you're done chastising and manhandling him, perhaps I can be of some use?"

Elissa jerked her head away and opened her eyes to see Wynne standing beside her, lips pursed in disapproval. She flushed and scrambled to her feet. "Of course," she mumbled. She spared one last glance at Alistair before rushing over to join Solona and Irving-but Wynne had moved to block her view and she couldn't see his expression.

That was probably a good thing, she thought, feeling enormously stupid for her emotional babbling . She shook her head and did her best to forget it. Far better to focus on the success of their mission rather than her failure to maintain her composure—she figured she could forgive herself just this once for indulging in . . . whatever that had been.

It'd been one hell of a long day, after all.

* * *

"So what did you want to tell me about the Litany?"

They'd managed to make their way down two floors of the spiraling Circle Tower so far, but it was slow going. The mages that had been in the Harrowing chamber were weak and injured—Irving in particular was especially frail, and they'd had to stop frequently to allow him to catch his breath.

They were on one such break when Elissa finally caught Solona alone.

Solona looked over furtively at the others before turning back to her. "The Litany isn't just effective against Blood Magic," she whispered. "I think originally it was a defense against . . . dreamers."

Elissa's eyebrows rose of their own accord. "Really?" she whispered back. "Well, that's enormously useful, isn't it?"

Solona shot her a crooked grin. "Thought you might like that. But there's more—or at least, there is in theory." At Elissa's inquisitive glance she went on, dropping her voice another register. "I think it might also help you with those darkspawn nightmares."

Elissa's mouth hung open. Of course! The Litany seemed to protect the mind from outside influences. And her darkspawn nightmares were basically mental attacks from the Archdemon. "That is a very sound hypothesis," she said in a breathless whisper, again feeling the foreign sensation of hope lighting a fire in her veins.  _Imagine it . . . no more nightmares . . ._ The thought of getting a night of uninterrupted sleep made her slump in grateful relief, before her face pulled into a frown. "But . . . how do I recite it when I'm sleeping?"

Solona shrugged. "I can teach you a few mental techniques—sort of a mnemonic you use when you're sleeping to recall the words to the Litany. You've already memorized it, so you're halfway there."

"Solona, you have  _no idea_  how helpful that would be."

She gave a little shrug. "Don't mention it," she said, turning back to look at the others. As her gaze cast over them her face fell—a resigned sadness seemed to descend over her.

That only strengthened Elissa's resolve and settled a question she'd been grappling with since they'd reunited. "Solona, do you want to become a Grey Warden?"

Solona startled and looked down at her with wide eyes. "Are you . . . are you serious?"

Elissa shrugged her right shoulder. "Why wouldn't I be? It's what you want, right? I mean . . . that's why you know so much about Grey Wardens. You wanted to become one once and so you researched them. Right?"

Solona nodded her head, and her mouth slowly formed into a wide smile. "I did. I do! I mean, I'll do anything to get out of this Tower," she said, lowering her voice again and looking around.

Strange how what felt like a burdensome duty to her could be seen as freedom and escape to Solona. "It's not really freedom, you know," she said, frowning up at her. "It's a duty and there are risks—"

"I know there's a dangerous Joining ritual." Elissa's eyes went wide and Solona gave an apologetic shrug. "I mean, I don't really know what it all entails, but . . . I know that there's a risk that . . .I won't make it. I'm willing to take it."

Solona's certainty only increased her own. "Very well. Fortunately for you it's a risk we'll be forced to put off for some time, as we currently lack the means to perform the ritual. But we'll correct that as soon as we can."

Solona let out a breath and shook her head in amazement. "I can't believe it. I thought I'd missed my shot—" She seemed struck by an unpleasant thought, because her face suddenly fell and she turned to Elissa with a serious look. "Wait a minute . . . you're not expecting me to use my . . ." she lowered her head and spoke in a whisper, ". . . my unique ability, are you? Because I won't do that. I told you . . . going into someone's dream is not something I  _ever_  want to do again."

"Fair enough." Elissa felt somewhat relieved by her attitude. Litany or no, the thought of being accompanied by someone who could invade her dreams wasn't pleasant. It was reassuring to see the sincere disgust Solona seemed to have for that activity. "I won't ask you to do that, but I  _do_  actually have a favor to ask concerning your . . . abilities."

She explained about Connor and the demon, and how they'd come to the Tower not just for the treaties, but also for lyrium and mages. "But if  _you_  could simply . . . you know . . . all on your own, then we don't have to ask the Templars—"

"And no one has to know the kid's a mage," Solona finished quietly for her. Her eyebrows pulled together. "I don't know about this. I never told anybody about . . . what I can do . . . before today. I don't really want to tell anyone else . . ."

Elissa nodded. "A completely reasonable and rational reaction," she said. "But let me assure you, the Arl's brother is a trustworthy man, and he can keep a secret. I can understand your hesitation, but there are worse things than being owed a favor by one of the most powerful nobles in Ferelden."

Solona chewed her bottom lip and seemed to mull over Elissa's assertion. After a moment she nodded. "Alright, I'll do it . . . just this once."

Elissa smiled up at the other woman but refrained from the wildly random impulse she felt to pull her into a tight hug. Where had this predilection for spontaneous affection come from, anyway?

Of course, she couldn't feel  _too_  joyous over her recent successes. There was still the not insignificant problem concerning the deadline she'd given Morrigan. The first dim rays of dawn's light had started to filter down through the Tower's high windows—there was no way they would make it back to Redcliffe before the appointed hour when she'd told Morrigan to go ahead with the blood magic ritual.

It made her gut churn with worry and dampened her celebratory mood considerably to think that Isolde could lose her life unnecessarily in a few hours. Part of her bitterly wished she'd never given such an order, but she knew that her reasoning at the time was sound-how could she have known the Tower would be in the middle of a full-on mage rebellion?

There was no sense beating herself up over it. All she could do now was hope and pray that Leliana's uncommon competence would intervene to save Isolde and stave off disaster. It was a thin hope, but she clung to it nonetheless as they made their way down the many spiraling steps of the Circle Tower.


	26. Free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solona is excited to begin her new life as a Grey Warden.

_If you wanna be free_ _  
_ _Below the ground's the only place to be_ _  
_ _'Cause in this life_ _  
_ _You spend time running from depravity_ _This is a cold war_ _  
_ _Do you know what you're fighting for?_

— _Cold War_ , Janelle Monáe

So far being a Grey Warden was pretty sodding terrific.

Greagoir's face turning beet-red in indignation when the Warden coolly busted out the Rite of Conscription at his objection to her recruitment was just about the most beautiful thing Solona had ever seen.

She could have giggled to herself as she stood on the deck of the  _Spellrunner._  She'd dreamt of this moment for so long, and now it was finally here.

She was free from the Tower—for good.

She took in a deep breath. The outside world smelled so complicated compared to the stale, oppressive air of the Circle Tower. Sure, you'd sometimes smelled hints of sulfur or lyrium—that biting scent combination all mages were accustomed to breathing in—but for the most part, the air in the Circle Tower never changed.

Here out on the lake, though? It varied by the minute, and Solona would have been content to simply stand on the boat and marvel at the smells for the entire journey to Redcliffe.

But unfortunately, that wasn't to be. She heard a dry cough behind her. "That is a lovely view, isn't it?"

She stifled the groan that nearly escaped her.  _Wynne_. The one dark spot on the crystal glass surface of her shiny new life. "It's alright."

Wynne joined her at the railing, propping up an elbow and peering out at the water with narrowed eyes. "I've made this journey a dozen times, and every time it's as if it were a different lake."

Solona took a deep breath and kept her eyes trained on the horizon. "If you say so," she said, affecting a bored tone and hoping it would inspire the old lady to just go away.

"Pretend all you like, Solona. I know exactly how exciting leaving the Tower is."

She tilted her head at the other woman. "It's not my first time you know. Ostagar deflowered me."

Finally, that serene expression twitched. "Nevertheless, I am sure this trip is important to you. Your first step in your journey to becoming a Grey Warden . . ."

Solona felt her eyes roll heavenward of their own accord as she turned back to face the lake.  _Here it comes_.

"A servant for good, a defender of the weak . . . You must now come to recognize the importance of serving  _others_  first, and not just looking out for yourself." Wynne peered up at her. "Being a Grey Warden is about more than just escaping the Tower, I hope you realize."

Solona picked at the flaking wood on the railing. "I know what it means to be a Grey Warden, Wynne, you don't have to lecture me. You probably can't find anyone else in this stupid country that knows more, at this point."  _Except maybe Neria._  Solona's brow furrowed but she tried not to sigh audibly.  _Actually, Neria's probably halfway to Tevinter by now . . ._

Wynne didn't bother trying to stifle  _her_  sigh. "Very well," she said. "I just want to make sure you understand how many people are counting on you." She paused a beat. "Elissa and Alistair are counting on you, too."

"I know." Solona realized she sounded like an immature brat with the defensiveness that had crept in her tone. She gave a deep sigh and then turned to scan the boat for her companions. Elissa was seated at one of the benches, curled into a little ball and nose deep into a heavy tome that rested on her knees.

And of course, there was Alistair, on the other side of the boat and just about as far away from his Grey Warden partner as he could be.

"They need all the help they can get," she muttered under her breath.

Wynne's gaze followed her. "Yes, they are certainly not what you'd expect aren't they?" She shifted slightly. "Do you know much about them?"

She glanced at Wynne out of the corner of her eye, before turning away to hide her smirk.  _So that's the real pretense for this conversation._ Underneath all that sanctimony and solemnity lurked the heart of a true gossip.

Her lips twitched at the forced casualness in Wynne's tone and posture and she was struck by a sudden impulse. "Oh I know plenty," she said, letting her voice drop down low so that Wynne was forced to lean forward to hear her. "The truth is he's actually King Maric's bastard son . . ."

Wynne couldn't help emitting a frustrated grunt at her teasing. "Solona! That is just frivolous gossip invented by besotted freshmen mages, and you very well know it."

Solona laughed guiltily. "You have to admit, it's pretty creative—and he  _does_  look like King Cailan." She had thought it pretty stupid when the mill started grinding that particular rumor, but the absurdity of it amused her.

Wynne rolled her eyes. "It's a ridiculous piece of fiction. Besides, that crest on his shield is familiar." She leaned in conspiratorially. "Do you think that means he's a Cousland?"

Solona shook her head, somewhat impressed by the elder Circle mage's tenacity. "No, that's actually Elissa's shield. She asked him to carry it for her at Ostagar."

Wynne nodded thoughtfully. "So  _Elissa_  is the Cousland. That makes more sense." She fell silent for a few heartbeats before clearing her throat. "They seem . . . understanding . . . of your particular gift—"

"I didn't tell them about your little hitchhiker, so you can stop fretting about it."

Wynne went very still for a few seconds before inclining her head. "So, you  _do_  know."

"I could tell the second I looked at you in the Fade." Wynne's eyes had glowed an unearthly and tell-tale blue and Solona had almost blurted out that she had a spirit inside her right then and there in front of the Wardens, but the two of them hadn't seemed to notice anything odd about the old woman, and so for once she kept her mouth shut. "Since today is turning into  _Ask Solona_  let me give you a little advice: tell the Warden, sooner rather than later. Secrets don't tend to live long around Elissa."

Wynne's eyebrows climbed her forehead but she nodded thoughtfully. "That girl is uncommonly  _perceptive_ , isn't she? Though she can also be remarkably  _clueless_ , about some things . . ."

Solona cast her glance over at the wardens again before turning back with a shrug. It was no mystery to her what was going on between the two of them. She'd seen her fair share of hook-ups (and break-ups) living in the close-knit quarters of the Circle Tower. "She'll figure it out."  _Or she won't. Either way, who cares?_

"That's what I'm afraid of."

Solona rolled her eyes and turned back to the lake, unwilling to engage in any more gossip. She didn't want to think about Alistair and Elissa's current drama. She just wanted to stand here and revel in the brisk lake breezes.

She figured she'd earned a day or two of relaxation after the hellish couple of weeks she'd had.  _Couple of months_ , she mentally corrected herself, though it seemed like a lifetime ago . . .

_The man that stood before her was dressed in the finest clothing she had ever seen. He was a tall, handsome man, and in spite of the gloomy light of the Fade his rich, mahogony hair seemed to shine. Solona wondered what kind of concoction the man used on his hair to achieve that kind of glow, or if it was just some strange trick of the Fade._

" _How do I know you're not a demon?" she had asked him, and he had smiled so warmly, and explained everything . . ._

But that was in the past, and her future stretched open wide in front of her like the expanse of sky that met the impossibly blue waters of Lake Calenhad.

She breathed deeply, reveling in her senses. That right there? That was the smell of freedom.

* * *

Solona was too busy gawking at the strange-looking houses of Redcliffe Village to pay much attention to what was going on with her Grey Warden companions. They were not inclined to let her linger to look at things. She tried to hurry after them as best she could while still drinking in as much of the sights as the village had to offer.

The villagers felt perfectly comfortable staring right back—she wondered how many mages they'd seen pass through Redcliffe on a regular basis. Wynne kept her posture ramrod straight and her eyes right in front of her as they walked, clearly doing her best to represent the Circle in the most dignified and professional way possible. It made Solona want to hike up her skirts and show her bare fanny to the gaping townsfolk, just to see what Wynne would do, but even if she'd been that brave, she knew Elissa and Alistair were in no mood for jokes. They didn't even stop to answer the people who called out questions to them as they raced by—too intent on getting to the castle to see what was left of it.

Elissa had given her a brief, high-level overview of the situation: there was a child in the castle who needed rescuing from a demon. And something about a blood mage and an Arl and some poison. Solona had had a hard time paying attention as the ship was leaving the port, but she figured the details would become fairly obvious once they got to the castle. Her job should be relatively easy, regardless.

For now she was enjoying her first steps on land as a free mage. Unfortunately, the Wardens seemed as nervous as she was happy. There was some question as to whether some order of Elissa's would be followed or not, but the gist of it was that they might arrive too late for Solona to be able to help.

She didn't really care either way.

As they cleared the bridge that led to the castle's yard (Solona had tried to walk as dead center in the thing as she could, and kept her eyes on her feet the whole time), they saw two figures waiting at the top of the stone steps that led up to the castle's man gate.

One was a giant—easily the largest person Solona had ever seen. Once they got close enough to see the tint of his skin and his white hair she realized he must be a Qunari. Funny, Elissa hadn't mentioned him.

The other one was smaller and feminine, with short red hair. She stood perfectly still with her arms crossed in front of her. Neither called out to them or made a move to join them.

Elissa and Alistair shared a look. "Leliana," they said in unison, before hurrying up the stone steps.

Wynne raced after them but Solona followed along at a more leisurely pace, not feeling an urge to wind herself with running just because the Wardens had a bug up their asses.

"Do Isolde and Connor still live?" She arrived at the top of the steps in time to hear Elissa ask her question in a clipped, demanding tone.

If there had been any emotional reunion, Solona had missed it. Leliana's mouth fell open. "You  _knew_? Morrigan  _wasn't_  lying?"

"Of course I knew," Elissa said breathlessly, before giving an exasperated sigh. "Why would Morrigan lie?"

Leliana gaped back. "Because she's  _Morrigan_?" Elissa rolled her eyes and Leliana sputtered. "For all I knew, she wanted to go make some underhanded deal with the demon herself!"

"That  _ridiculous,_ " Elissa said, and then seemed to catch herself and snapped her mouth shut, shutting her eyes for a few seconds before opening them again to fix a sympathetic—but cool—glance at Leliana. "You're right, Leliana. Giving you and Morrigan conflicting orders was a mistake, and I apologize for that. It won't happen again."

Leliana seemed surprised at the coolly dismissive tone Elissa used, but she nevertheless accepted the apology after a few blinking heartbeats. She nodded. "Connor and Isolde are still alive. I prevented Morrigan from going through with the ritual."

Alistair's sigh of relief was audible, and Elissa's shoulders seemed to relax instantly. "So . . . it all worked out," she breathed out, before looking up at Leliana with a frown. "Is Morrigan still alive?"

Leliana flushed, and Solona was struck by how prettily she managed it.  _Damn. That's a skill._ "Of course she is still alive! I wouldn't kill her. I merely . . .  _subdued_  her."

Alistair snorted a laugh. "I'd literally  _pay_ to see that."

Elissa tilted her head toward Leliana. "Where is the Bann now?"

"He's in the study with the Arlessa—"

Elissa didn't wait for Leliana to finish before brushing past her in her hurry toward the main castle door. Prince jogged along after her after. The others made to follow, but Wynne gave a delicate cough and Alistair turned to face her and Solona, startled and then suddenly embarrassed. "I'm so sorry! We haven't introduced you. Sten, Leliana, this is Wynne—she's a senior enchanter and a talented spirit healer from the Circle."

The giant—Sten,she supposed—didn't acknowledge them at all, but simply stood there with a face that showed nothing of what the man might be feeling.

Leliana smiled at the elder Circle mage. "It's a pleasure to meet you," she said, giving a little curtsey. "I am Leliana, Chantry sister of Lothering—well, ex-Chantry sister," she said with a dainty shrug. "And now I travel with the Wardens." She shot Alistair a warm smile.

Solona raised her eyebrows.  _Interesting_. When Alistair seemed unlikely to do more than beam at Leliana she cleared her throat. He looked over at her in surprise, and then his expression seemed to flatten. "Oh, yeah. That's Solona. She's a Circle mage, too."

 _Don't talk me up or anything._ She smiled warmly at the ex-Chantry sister. "And newest Grey Warden," she added.

"Right." Alistair rubbed his neck and looked back out at the bridge, not meeting Solona's eye. "Sort of," he muttered, under his breath.

It was loud enough for Leliana to hear, but she only acknowledged it with the briefest glance at Alistair before turning her smile on to Solona and accepting the hand she offered in a delicate handshake. "Pleased to meet you, I'm sure," she purred.

 _Chantry sister my ass._ The supposed sister looked at Alistair under a furrowed brow. "Did you get the lyrium as well?"

"Uh, no, actually." He glanced her way with a deep frown. "We got Solona, instead."

 _Gee, thanks, Templar. I hope you die a virgin._  She smiled warmly at Leliana's curious glance. "Well,  _I_ think you traded up," she said with a wink.

Leliana's lips twitched fetchingly into a confused little smile, but a glance at Alistair had her straightening her posture and smoothing her expression. "Very well. Let's not keep the Arlessa and the Bann waiting any longer."

* * *

" _Quam multa tempora sunt ut occideretis dæmonium habes?"_ the tall, ghastly looking spirit that had once been Elissa said in a voice that sounded whispery and multi-toned.

Solona put her staff on her back and waved an arm at the spirit. "I don't speak Tevene, Elissa. You have to change back if you want to talk to me."

The air around the spirit shimmered and a few seconds later Elissa reappeared, mouth hanging open as she looked at her. "You don't speak Tevene? What on earth did you spend your time  _doing_  in that Tower?"

Solona rolled her eyes and started walking down the path, not particularly interested in hearing about her wasted potential from yet another person. "What were you saying anyway?"

Elissa had to jog to catch up with Solona's long strides. "I was saying, how many more times do we have to kill this demon?"

"We've kill it what—twice now?" She gave a shrug. "Though that really wasn't it, you realize. That was just a shade of the demon."

Elissa shook her head and sighed, but Solona wasn't fooled. She looked pleased as punch. "Fascinating. Completely and utterly nonsensical, but fascinating nonetheless."

Solona looked at the woman walking beside her out of the corner of her eye. Her head was tilted upward, looking at what served as the "sky" in the Fade with an expression of pure wonderment. "I didn't think you'd be so eager to return to the Fade after your experience in the Tower."

"Oh . . . that." Her gaze turned to the ground at her feet for a few moments and then she huffed a sigh. "Let's just say it wasn't my first time having that particular dream." Her frown deepened for a few seconds before she seemed to shake it off with a wave of her hand. "Besides, I knew you could use my help."

 _And this way you know I won't deal with any demons_ , Solona thought, but didn't say. In truth Elissa was right—the noblewoman could shape change into several very useful forms in the Fade and Solona wasn't eager to go up against a Desire Demon of unknown power all by herself. So she'd gladly agreed to bring Elissa along with her over Alistair's objections.

It didn't earn her any points with the ex-Templar, but she could tell by the way Elissa's eyes shone that it had with the person she was most worried about winning over. She stopped her brisk walk down the path. "Listen, while we're here, we might as well work on using the Litany in your dreams."

Elissa looked up at her in surprise. "You want to do that now?" She cocked her head to the side thoughtfully. "Although . . . we are in the Fade, so I suppose we do have time."

"And when are you ever going to be conscious again in the Fade? Hopefully never, right?"

"Can't you just take me there any time you want?"

Solona shook her head. "No. I meant what I said—after this, my abilities are off limits. I'm just doing the Arl one little favor, and then I'm done. Do you understand?" She was a little surprised by the heat in her tone, but she supposed it couldn't hurt to be absolutely clear.

"I understand," Elissa said, inclining her head. She looked around. "So what do we do?"

Solona rubbed her hands together. "Alright, this is actually going to work really well since we're both here and awake. Here's what I want you to do: you need to think of an object that is significant to you but that you don't carry with you every day. Picture it as clearly and as vividly as you can, in your mind."

"Alright," Elissa said, gamely closing her eyes. "I'm picturing—"

"Shh!" Solona waved her hands in the air, even though Elissa couldn't see them. "Don't tell me anything at all about it—it has to come completely from you—otherwise I might get some of my . . . my brain gunk on it."

Elissa's eyes flew open. " _Brain gunk_? Solona, are you serious?" Her tone was deep with reproach. "Have you even documented  _any_ of this at all?"

Solona rolled her eyes. "Um,  _of course not_! I couldn't put this in writing. Now, you can tell me what a shitty mage I am later—for now, concentrate on that object."

Elissa sighed and closed her eyes. After a few seconds she frowned. "Alright, I'm picturing something. Now what?"

Solona chewed her lip, but didn't say anything for a few seconds. "Well . . . now I need to get that object out of your mind, and bring it into the Fade with us."

Elissa's frown deepened. "But . . . how are you going to . . ." She gasped and her eyes flew open again. "Solona,  _no._ " Her voice was deep and firm and the look she leveled at Solona brooked no argument.

Solona sighed. "It's just this once, and it'll take two seconds, tops—"

"I am  _not_  letting you inside my mind!"

"Don't you want nights of unbroken sleep?" Elissa had seemed overjoyed at the prospect of being freed from her darkspawn nightmares, and Solona was sure this method would help.

That seemed to give Elissa pause. "Well, I do." She chewed her bottom lip and winced up at Solona. "I'm just not certain it's worth letting you into my mind."

Solona crossed her arms, determined not to let this go. "Elissa, if I don't teach you this, you won't be able to  _stop_ me from getting inside your mind."  _And you'll never completely trust me…_

Elissa's eyes grew wide at that and her mouth opened for a second before she closed it. "I . . . well . . ." She frowned up at Solona again, apparently coming to the same conclusion. "Just this once?"

"That's the idea."

"Alright." She closed her eyes again, and took a deep breath. "I'm ready."

It really was an insignificant thing, to pop into Elissa's mind and grab whatever was at the forefront. A few seconds later and the object materialized in Solona's hands.

"A shield?" She frowned down at the familiar object. This was the same shield Alistair carried.

"Not just  _a_  shield. The Shield of Highever—it's been in my family for generations, but I don't know how to use it." She rubbed her forearm in an absentminded gesture. "So I don't carry it with me."

Solona raised her eyebrows but prudently refrained from commenting about who  _did_  carry it. She held the shield out to Elissa, who took it and stared down at it.

"This is actually going to work really well. This will serve as a sort of mnemonic that you'll link subconsciously with the Litany." She put a hand on the shield and waited until Elissa looked up and caught her eye. "So if you're in a dream and you see this shield, you'll know to start thinking of the Litany. That'll expel any outside forces."

Elissa made a clicking noise with her tongue. "That's why it has to be something I don't normally have on me."

They spent some time allowing Elissa to concentrate on the Litany while meditating on the shield before Solona guessed that the mental link was strong enough. "It can't hurt you to think about this shield when you're awake—spend some time each day meditating on it."

" _Meditating_?" Elissa said with a sneer, as if Solona had suggested she try cutting off her toes to fit her feet into a pair of shoes. "Just sit there and think about  _one thing_? Ugh. That's . . . impossible."

Solona hid a smile behind her hand as they walked up to the door made of purple, swirling smoke. "It might be worth trying," she said evenly, adding  _for you of all people_  to the sentence in her mind.

* * *

It was kind of funny seeing everyone gape at them when they woke up. The Bann, especially, looked flabbergasted. "Did it work? You were only gone five minutes."

Solona took the hand he extended to help her rise from the floor of the study. They'd wasted no time once they'd located Bann Teagan and Solona informed Elissa that she could pinpoint the demon's location using the weak points of the Veil. They sent Wynne on to monitor the Arl and Solona and Elissa had jumped right in to the Fade.

It had been a cakewalk. "Yep, we got the bitch." She beamed at the Bann and enjoyed the way his eyes widened at her language.  _Fucking with nobles is kind of fun._

" _Technically_  demons are genderless," Elissa said, brushing some unseen dirt off her pants. "Presumably the demon just took a form it thought you would find appealing."

 _Um, thanks, Elissa, for sharing._  She looked up to see Leliana shoot her a curious look but when their eyes caught she looked away with a flush.  _Interesting, yet again._

"Uh, that's great and all, but can we go check on Connor now?" Alistair said, already moving toward the door of the study.

_You're welcome! Ass._

Teagan placed a warm hand on her elbow and looked down at her in utter awe. "Words cannot express how very thankful we are for your help in saving Connor, You have my gratitude." He let go of her arm and turned to Elissa. " _Both_  of you—thank you so very much—"

Elissa held up a hand, clearly not as bowled over by Teagan's sincere gratitude as Solona felt. "Thank me when we confirm that Connor and Eamon still live."

That confirmation didn't take long.

The lot of them stood in the Arl's bedroom some ten minutes later—most of the tension had melted away the instant the ritual's success was established. Not only had the boy survived, but the Arl lived, too, and while Wynne had been unable to cure him, she had managed to stabilize him and even put him in a form of long-term stasis that could keep him alive for an indefinite period. Everyone breathed easier after that.

The Arl was saved and the boy was freed of his demon.  _Not bad for my first day._

Solona's thoughts drifted away from the conversation as she began to speculate on the nature of the reward she might receive for her efforts helping the noble family today. She idly wondered if gold was something she needed to worry about now, or if the Wardens handled all of that for her. She'd never handled money a day in her life—she really wouldn't know what to do with it all, but at the same time she felt a swell of longing at the mere thought of having it—of being able to purchase things all on her own just because she wanted to.

It almost made her feel a little weak in the knees.  _I'm going to get new robes-maybe a new staff. And some earrings._ She'd always wanted a pair of earrings.

"I suppose we will need to send Connor to the Circle of Magi's tower for . . . training, once the war is over."

The Bann's words registered with Solona a few seconds later. "Wait, what?"

All eyes turned to her and her mouth went dry at their attention. Elissa raised her eyebrows. "Yes, Solona?"

"I just . . . I thought the whole point of me coming here was so we wouldn't involve the Templars."

"It was."

She blinked heavily a few times, as comprehension started to dawn. At her silence, Elissa and Teagan turned back toward each other and started babbling again, though she quickly lost the thread.

Ah well, no use crying over some stupid kid she'd never even met before, she supposed. Elissa must have her reasons to want to avoid Chantry involvement. No doubt it was something political.  _She seems the type—_

"There is still the matter of Jowan," she heard Bann Teagan say, and her mind ground to a screeching stop.  _Jowan? How does Bann Teagan know Jowan?_  "You trusted him and he saved Connor's life. I am . . . unsure of what to make of that."

Solona blinked dumbly at the Bann, feeling the blood start to drain from her face and not really hearing the next words he said.  _Void fucking take me._ Why hadn't she paid closer attention? The Wardens had said that a blood mage poisoned the Arl . . . but they never said his name.

Elissa's voice rang out, piercing her thoughts with its authoritative certainty. "He should be executed—sooner, rather than later."

A female voice, thick with an Orlesian accent and hatred, affirmed Elissa's pronouncement. "I would agree with that statement. Heartily." Solona could only gape dumbly at the boy's mother.

Bann Teagan, at least, seemed a little taken aback by the suggestion. "Executed? Are you certain?"

Hearing the Bann's doubt finally sparked some action in Solona's feeble mind. If she couldn't stop standing there catching flies with her gaping open mouth her best friend in the whole world was going to be executed.

"No!" Her voice croaked, but it was loud enough for everyone to hear her and once again face toward her. She ignored every face but one. "Elissa, you can't do this.  _Please._  I . . . I know Jowan. He's a friend of mine. You can't just kill him!"

Elissa's face softened at her confession . . . but not nearly enough, Solona saw, and fear wound itself around her heart. "He's an admitted blood mage and an attempted murderer," she said, gently but firmly. "He's already tried to kill one of their family members. He's too dangerous to be kept alive." She scowled at Solona in disbelief. "Besides, why don't  _you_  want him dead too? After what his kind did to the Tower?"

Solona shook her head frantically. "No! No, Jowan wasn't involved in  _any_  of that, trust me! He was long gone before any of that shit went down-"

Elissa made a face, and Solona read the patronizing intent even before she spoke. "You can't really be sure of that though, can you? He's an  _admitted_  maleficar."

Her mouth opened and closed but she found it empty of logical arguments to sway Elissa. She whirled around, looking for any friendly face in the crowd that she could convince to argue on her side. Alistair steadfastly avoided her gaze, but Wynne met it. She saw no agreement there, however, nor in the steely violet gaze of the giant who loomed at the edge of the room. She turned the other way to see Isolde, glaring with hatred at  _her_  now ( _fucking nobles and their fucking short memories_ ) and Teagan just looked confused.

Finally she looked at Leliana, and felt her heart skip a beat. The pretty Chantry sister had brought herself up to her full height and was glaring at Elissa in an obvious challenge. "This man wants to redeem himself. I say that it is foolish to toss aside the life of anyone who desires redemption."

Ordinarily Solona would have found such devotion corny, but not today. Either she was just exceedingly grateful or Leliana wore devout exceedingly well.  _Hell, maybe both are true_. But as she drank in the sight of Leliana's bright blue eyes flashing in indignation she couldn't help but believe the solemn truth of her words.

She turned to see the effect Leliana's plea had on Elissa and her heart sank. Elissa did not appear moved. "Nevertheless, the decision is mine," she said, her face a mask of cool calm. "And my decision has been made."

Solona felt her stomach heave at the finality in Elissa's pronouncement.  _Not Jowan_. She had thought that at least the stupid bastard was safe—they had managed to destroy his phylactery after all. But of course, they were never safe. They were mages.

She could have drowned in desperation and paralysis, but one traitorous thought bubbled to the surface. "I'll owe you."

Her offer elicited murmurs of confusion from the castle folk, but the Wardens and Wynne immediately straightened their posture and snapped their attention to her. Their reaction quieted the others.

Elissa's eyes narrowed. "You'll  _owe_  me?"

Solona swallowed the lump in her throat, feeling the threads of the past once again winding their way around her neck. She would never be free of what she had done. Not for as long as she lived. She took a deep breath. "That's right. I'll owe you. A favor. Anything in my power to give."

She could see heads whipping back and forth to stare at Elissa and Solona in turn, some in plain confusion, and some with bated interest. Solona kept her gaze trained on Elissa.

The Warden looked her up and down. "And how do I know you'll keep your word?"

And just like that, a simple truth she'd been trying to deny all day long became glaringly obvious. "Because." She looked around, feeling her cheeks grow hot and hating every second of this. "Because without your say so I'm nothing. I'm not a Grey Warden unless you say so. I'm just . . . an apostate."

For all that Elissa claimed she was just as much a Grey Warden as she and Alistair, in that instant, with that offer on the table . . . Solona learned the truth of the matter.

"Alright, Solona. You have a deal—you'll owe me a favor, but if the Arl dies, Jowan's life is forfeit. Fair enough?"

The Bann and the Arlessa shared a look and then nodded, and then Elissa turned her cool gaze on Solona and raised her eyebrows.

She swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded, wondering what price she would eventually have to pay for her newly found freedom and hoping it was worth it.


	27. Deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elissa just wants to take a bath.

_It feels so good just to feel something_

— _In The Sea,_ Ingrid Michaelson

Elissa picked at a dried flake of blood on her sleeve. Never in her life had she been in more dire need of a bath. She'd cleaned herself up on the ship as best she could, but she knew she still had blood (and maybe even gore) in her hair, and the film of sweat and dirt on her skin made her feel itchy and uncomfortable. The thought of a warm bath with clean fresh water nearly made her knees buckle as she staggered down the steep stone steps to the Redcliffe dungeon.

She needed sleep too. She'd lost track of how many hours she'd been awake in the last couple of days. She should have slept on the boat ride over, but her worry over what they might find when they returned had kept her awake _. Among other worries . . ._

The large dungeon door made an ominous  _clang_  as she swung it open. She peered into the gloom. There were no corpses—walking or otherwise—in sight. Teagan and Isolde had apparently taken seriously her recommendation to burn all the bodies in the dungeon.

"Hello? Is anybody there?"

She stifled a groan.  _Jowan_. She'd forgotten he was down here, too. No matter, she thought, squaring her shoulders and righting the heavy bag that hung over her shoulder. She walked into the long corridor.

"You! You're back! What's going on? Is the demon gone? It feels . . . different, now. What happened?"

She didn't answer immediately, flicking her gaze around to each cell, but she didn't see Morrigan. "We did the ritual. Connor is safe, as is Isolde," she said at last, turning back to face the blood mage.

The relief on the man's face was palpable. "Oh! Thank the Maker," he said, slumping against the bars. "I was so worried." After a moment's hesitation he straightened and met her gaze again. "So . . . how was the Circle?"

"Infested with blood mages," she said in an even tone, watching his reaction closely.

The mage's face screwed up in confusion. "Infested with blood mages? Surely, you're joking—" He caught her expression and gasped. "You're  _not_ joking. What in the world happened?"

She held up a hand. "It's a long story, and I'm in desperate need of a bath and a nap, so it'll have to wait—"

"Yes,  _please_! Don't let us keep you from your  _bath_." Morrigan's snide voice emerged from the cell farthest from Jowan.

A lump formed in Elissa's throat, but she felt the comforting shape in her satchel. Without a word to Jowan, she walked over to the last cell on the block, paying no attention to the sputtering questions he called after her.

"Morrigan."

The witch emerged from the gloom at the back of the cell, stalking forward with death and fire in her eyes. Her voice was eerily calm, however. "I am going to skin her alive and then bury her in a colony of ants," she hissed.

_Gross_. She tried to aim for a conciliatory tone. "I know that you're upset—"

"Upset?  _Upset_? I was drugged and bound and placed in a dungeon!" Morrigan erupted, that cool facade cracking in the face of her rage.

Elissa was thankful for the iron bars, but mindful of the fact that Morrigan could probably still kill her where she stood. Still, seeing Morrigan bested in this way wasn't entirely un-amusing. She raised an eyebrow. "So Leliana got the drop on you, I see?"

Morrigan's mouth fell open, before she snapped it closed, narrowing her eyes at Elissa dangerously. "You would mock me now? Need I remind you that I am in here because of  _you_. I was only following  _your_  orders."

She couldn't completely ignore the pang of guilt in her gut at Morrigan's words. Really, she shouldn't joke. She must be tired. Elissa closed her eyes a moment before opening them and going on. "I know, Morrigan, and for that you have my sincerest apologies."

Morrigan froze at the apparently unexpected concession. Her eyebrows rose slightly, before lowering again as she glared at Elissa. "I care not a whit for your apology. 'Tis worthless to me."

Elissa cocked her head to the side. "Really, Morrigan, do you think I'd let you out of there without a promise not to harm Leliana?" She started to slip her hand into her satchel. "Or anyone else for that matter?"

"And why would I ever promise that?"

Her fingers gripped the heavy spine of the black, leather-covered tome she'd collected from the First Enchanter's office when no one had been looking. "Because," she said, slowly drawing out the book and holding it up in front of her. "I found this."

Morrigan's eyes went wide and she forgot herself, leaning forward to grip the bars. "Mother's Grimoire . . . You found it!" She stared at the book in Elissa's hand for a few seconds before squinting. "That's the price then? I go without getting revenge on Leliana, and you give me my mother's tome?"

Elissa nodded, watching Morrigan's face. "Nor will you harm Alistair or me, or anyone else in my party."

Morrigan flinched at that, for some reason, before furrowing her brow and glaring at the book, as if she could glean its secrets if she stared at it hard enough.

"Very well. These terms are acceptable."

Elissa passed the tome through the bars to her, and she snatched it greedily and immediately began flipping through the pages.

"And I am very sorry," Elissa said quietly as she unlocked the cell door and pulled it open. "It was foolish of us to give conflicting orders the way we did. It won't happen again."

Morrigan had started making her way out of the cell block, nose already buried in her mother's secrets, when she paused at the threshold and glared down at Elissa. "'Tis that so?"

Elissa nodded, bringing herself up to her full (but admittedly short) height. "Indeed. We can't have two leaders issuing orders separately. Since . . ." She couldn't bring herself to say his name in front of Morrigan. "I am apparently the only one willing and suitable for the position, I will be the one to make the decisions and lead this group."

Morrigan raised a skeptical eyebrow. "And is  _Alistair_  aware of this? You've forbidden him from giving orders behind your back in the future?"

She started to protest that that  _wasn't_  what happened—not really—when she stopped, realizing that regardless, Morrigan was correct. "I haven't yet . . . but I will." She gulped, not relishing the prospect. "At the earliest opportunity," she added at Morrigan's doubtful look.

Morrigan's amber eyes searched her face and then seemed to scan down Elissa's body. "There is something different about you."

She couldn't keep her eyebrows from twitching upward, but she tried to cover the thrill Morrigan's words elicited by shrugging a shoulder. "I suppose this has all been a . . . learning opportunity."

Morrigan snorted at that, and then narrowed her eyes. "You look terrible. What happened at the tower? Why were you late?"

Elissa started picking at another flake of blood on the top of her thigh-high boot. "We had to put down a mage rebellion," she said casually.

"What!?" Jowan's voice screeched out.

Morrigan ignored him, raising an eyebrow at Elissa. "The sheep decided to turn on their shepards, I take it?"

Elissa sighed, remembering Loghain's involvement. "There was a wolf involved, too," she said, enjoying the flash of confusion in Morrigan's eyes at that. She gave another shrug. "Loghain put someone up to it—a mage named Uldred."

" _Uldred?_ " Jowan's incredulous voice carried over to them from down the hall.

Elissa rubbed the back of her neck. "We arrived to find the tower in disarray. Uldred had summoned demons and abominations stalked the hallways. Things looked pretty grim—"

"Let me guess. Rather than getting back on the boat and returning to Redcliffe as would have been wise and prudent, you elected to stay and do something brave and stupid."

Elissa couldn't help wincing at that, but it quickly turned into a frown. "I couldn't just let them  _annul_  the Circle."

"What happened?" They both turned toward Jowan, who was gripping the bars of his cell and staring at Elissa intently. "Did you manage to save anyone? What did you do?"

She pursed her lips and looked down at her fingernails, aware of how Morrigan watched her, too. Aiming for a casual tone, she said, "Oh, we cleared out all the blood mages, defeated a Sloth demon in the Fade, and then I killed a Pride demon all by myself."  _Well, that was mostly true._  She turned to Jowan. "We managed to save a couple dozen mages and the First Enchanter, too."

Jowan could only gape at her in surprise, but Morrigan didn't seem particularly impressed. She shook her head. "You all could have been killed. Foolish."

The image of Alistair lying lifeless on the floor of the Harrowing chamber sprang to her mind, and she felt a surge of guilt. "No, it wasn't," she hissed. "Staying and helping the mages was the right call. We were able to save both Connor and Isolde, as well as ensure that Eamon still lives." She crossed her arms to her chest. "All in all, the mission was a  _complete_  success."

Just then the dungeon door clanged again, and they all turned to see Solona enter.

Elissa felt her chest tighten. If she was so sodding successful, why did she dread facing so many of her companions? "Solona . . ."

Jowan caught sight of her at the same time. " _Solona_?! You're alright! But, what are you doing here?"

Solona didn't answer. Instead, she stomped her way over to tower in front of Elissa, glaring down. "Does he  _really_  have to stay down here? This is a dungeon!"

"'Twould seem you've acquired quite the Mistress of the Obvious, here," Morrigan said amusedly, peeking up from her book to shoot a raised eyebrow at Solona.

Solona whirled in surprise at the voice, seeming only to notice the presence of the apostate in that moment. Her eyes went wide as she took in Morrigan's unconventional attire, drawing her gaze up and down the other woman's figure for the space of a few heartbeats. "Um, hi."

"Solona, meet Morrigan. She's a Witch of the Wilds. Her mother was the one that saved Alistair and I from the top of that Tower."

Solona looked from her to Morrigan and seemed about to ask a question (or more likely, a whole host of them), before shaking her head to herself. "That's . . . great. Nice to meet you." She turned back to Elissa. "Does he  _really_ have to stay down here? This place is disgusting! And he's not a danger to anyone . . . he's  _Jowan_!"

Elissa's head had started to throb. "Why don't you go down to the village and find out just how harmless your friend here really is?" At Solona's blank look, she went on. "The only reason that boy made a deal with a demon in the first place is because your  _friend,"_  she jabbed a finger in Jowan's direction, "pretended to tutor the poor boy and instead of helping him  _poisoned his father._ "

Solona looked a little taken aback by the heat in Elissa's tone. "I . . . I know what he did, but—"

"Do you?" Elissa stepped up to the taller woman, surprised a little at herself. When had she gotten so blasé about snapping at mages? "Do you have any idea of the death and destruction that demon wrought? Two-thirds of the townsfolk here are  _dead_. Jowan may have thought he was doing the right thing but his good intentions don't change the fact that his actions lead to the deaths of many innocent people."

Solona seemed to quail in the face of her anger. "I . . . I know. It's just . . . it was  _Loghain_  who put him up to it."

Elissa took a deep breath, suddenly feeling her exhaustion down to her very bones. She just wanted to go to sleep. Preferably after a long, hot soak. She rubbed her temple. "Loghain will get his, too. Don't worry. As for your friend—"

"He's not  _just_ a friend."

Elissa's eyes went wide and Jowan's voice rang out incredulously. " _Really_?"

"Not like that! And ew." Solona rolled her eyes before turning to look at Jowan with a mixture of disappointment, affection and exasperation that Elissa recognized all too well. With that look, she suddenly understood, and knew what Solona was going to say before she said it. "He's more like—"

"A brother," Elissa finished for her, the ever present ache in her chest sharpening with the word.

Solona turned back to look at her and gave a sad, hopeful smile. "Exactly."

Elissa frowned and blinked at the forlorn mage behind the bars. It really was hard to consider him a threat—at least, it would be if she could simply forget his status as a maleficar and attempted murderer. Still, she was tired of fighting, and Solona's display of sisterly love for Jowan was making her throat constrict. "I . . . I will speak to Isolde about moving him—"

Solona's eyes brightened and her eyebrows shot up. "Really?"

"Don't get your hopes up," she said, shooting a warning look up at the mage. She lifted her hands. "I can't exactly blame her for not feeling safe around the man. But obviously, the dungeon isn't a permanent solution." She rubbed her eyes—they felt crusty with sleep.  _Maker_ , she just wanted a bath. And a nap. Maybe some food. She looked up at Solona blearily. "I'm sorry. I'll do what I can, but it's not completely up to me."

Solona looked at first as if she were about to start up the argument again. "Solona, she's right," Jowan said, staring at them with those sad brown eyes of his. "I . . . I did everything she said I did. I don't blame them for keeping me in here. It's probably better than I deserve."

"Oh, Jowan, you complete and utter moron," Solona said softly, brows knit together. She stepped over to the bars. "What were you thinking?"

Elissa didn't catch his reply-she took that moment to turn on her heel and head with a quickness to the door toward escape and comfort. She felt a little guilty giving Solona any false hope about Jowan, but it had been the only thing she could think to say to appease her.

Morrigan gave out an amused sounding, "hmph" from beside her. She paused, hand on the door and shot her an inquisitive look. The witch was staring back at Solona thoughtfully. After a moment she cocked an eyebrow at Elissa and said, "She manipulated you quite impressively."

Elissa couldn't control the loud huff of a breath that escaped her at that, but bit down her reply, not wanting to waste another second in this disgusting and dark dungeon.

She pushed open the door and hurried away, burying her irritation behind a single thought: a bath was imminent.

* * *

"The Blight—how will you end it?"

Elissa nearly stumbled into the giant that loomed over her, blocking her path down the hall toward her room. She gazed up at the Qunari with a deep sigh. Ordinarily being confronted by Sten would have sent her heart beating wildly in fear—she avoided the man like the plague, more unsettled than she cared to admit by her complete inability to read anything at all on his face.

But now, he was standing between her and a bath. "We have to kill the archdemon," she said wearily.

"Is that all?" The giant's eyebrows rose slightly, and Elissa was about to protest that that task was plenty difficult, when he went on and she realized he was being sarcastic. "It is surrounded by an ocean of darkspawn. How will you reach it? If you reach it, how will you slay it?"

She stared up at him in disbelief.  _Now? He wants to talk about this now?_  "I am well aware of the obstacles that stand in our way."

Violet eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. "You  _say_  you are a Grey Warden. I have heard stories of this order."

The doubt in his voice broke the last, far too-taut string holding back her utter exasperation. "You  _doubt_  I am a Grey Warden?" If she'd used that tone with Alistair he'd have probably paled considerably, but Sten was unmoved, unsurprisingly. Still, she was a little proud of herself for standing up to him.

He crossed his arms and leaned forward ever so slightly. "Great strategists and peerless warriors. That is what we hear of the Wardens." He leaned back and looked her up and down. "So far I am not impressed."

The air around her seemed to cool in a second. Something snapped within her at Sten's impudence. And yet, she kept her voice even and controlled as she spoke. "I realize you do not know me very well and so your ignorance can be excused." Did his eyebrow twitch a little at that? "But rest assured,  _Qunari_ , that there is no one more capable of making the decisions required and prioritizing our mission than me. I have a long list of steps I need to accomplish to defeat this Blight, and I am acutely aware of what all those steps may require of me." She found herself actually stepping up to the giant, jutting her chin out and glaring up at him. She would have marveled at her foolhardiness, but she was consumed by that same cool, blue and deadly calm she'd managed to achieve in the fight against Uldred's cronies. "I promise, impressing you is  _nowhere_  on that list," she finished with a venomous hiss.

Was there a hint of approval in those shuttered purple eyes of his? Maybe. Elissa was far too tired to tell. "Evidently not. It remains only to see what you  _are_  here for." After a beat he added, "human."

With that, he stalked away. Apparently the conversation was over.

Once he was out of sight she let her shoulders slump, feeling every ache and twinge of her sore and tired muscles. That bath was going to be pure and utter heaven, and it was only a few strides away. She silently prayed that the household had enough servants to at least fetch the water for her. If she had to haul her own bath water to her rooms she might just curl up and die on the stone floor right here. And then where would everyone be?

She shook her head and set off down the hall, trying to remember which room Isolde had said would be hers. She should be thankful, she supposed, for Isolde's generosity in letting them stay at the castle for a few days while everyone rested and recuperated from their injuries. But whenever she thought of Isolde, she couldn't help picturing a little boy with sandy blonde hair dressed in rags and fighting with the mabaris for scraps of food.

It made her heart twist painfully to think of the way Alistair had been brought up, and it shocked her because she'd never really given much thought or concern to the lives of orphans or castle bastards before. But the thought of someone with a disposition so sweet and open as Alistair's—he must have been an adorable child, she couldn't help muse—being treated so poorly by someone who could have been  _so_  much more to him . . . it filled her with an oddly intense sense of injustice.

She frowned. Why was she even thinking about this now?

She was just about to open her door when the subject of her ruminations emerged from the room next to hers.

His hair was wet and he was dressed in a silver waist coat, silk shirt and black pants—the Arlessa must have provided them all a change of clothes. It was hard to hold on to her anger at Isolde when she looked at how finely Alistair filled out the clothes she'd provided. She'd never seen him in anything but his armor.

_His chest really is that wide . . ._

He turned toward her and startled, obviously surprised to find her just standing there staring at him with her hand on the doorknob. "Oh! Uh, hi."

She felt suddenly awkward. They'd taken care since the Tower not to find each other alone in the other's company. Or at least,  _she_  had taken care not to, and he had made it easy.

"Morrigan's fine. I let her out of the dungeon and she's agreed to let this whole thing go," she blurted out, anxious to fill the silence that had settled.

"Really? How did you manage that?"

She stared up at him for a few seconds, not sure she should tell him the truth, but too tired to come up with a suitable lie. "I found a book of her mother's at the Tower and gave it to her."

He frowned down at her. "Do you really think that's wise?"

It might have been that she was so tired, and feeling even itchier and grimier staring up at a man who managed to clean up rather well, but something in his questioning tone rankled her. "It's about the only thing that kept her from skinning Leliana alive, so yes, I do think that was wise," she said heatedly.

He looked mildly surprised at her outburst, but then shrugged agreeably. "You're the boss."

She sighed, reminded of the conversation that needed to happen. She wanted nothing more than to escape through the door to her room and get started with the business of bathing, but she supposed this really couldn't wait much longer. Just one thing and she'd be free. She took a deep breath. "Alistair, we need to talk."

"Oh?"

She nodded tiredly. "About what happened in Redcliffe before we left."

He glanced around the hall—it was empty save for the two of them, but he turned back to look at her doubtfully anyway. "Really? You want to talk about this now? Here?"

She waved a hand dismissively. "It won't take long, I promise."

He crossed his arms across his chest and took a deep breath. "Alright."

She probably should have practiced what she was going to say, but she just wanted to get this over with. The sooner the air was cleared, the better. "So basically, that  _can't_  happen again."

He frowned down at her for a few seconds before looking away. She could see his jaw work. "Well, that's . . . not really up to me now is it?"

She was a little surprised at the defensiveness in his tone. She'd expected him to be completely on board with her newfound dedication to leading. It seemed to her he'd been pushing her toward this position since they'd begun. But, maybe he wasn't so reluctant to lead after all. The thought filled her with a little bit of hope for the future.

Still, what she'd told Morrigan was absolutely true—their group needed one leader, one decision-maker, and until he was ready to truly step up, that was going to be her. "We are both at least partially responsible for what happened," she said, aiming for a diplomatic tone. "I think we can share the blame, don't you?"

He gaped down at her for a few seconds before snapping his mouth closed and looking off to the side again. "Look, if you don't want it to happen again, that's entirely up to you, Elissa." She started to open her mouth to say that they would  _both_  need to change for this to work, but he went on. "If you don't want to kiss me again, then  _just don't kiss me again_."

Her mouth opened and closed for a few seconds and the heat of a blush crept up her face.  _Maker's breath!_  He thought she was talking about  _that_?

She shut her eyes and clenched her teeth together, before opening them and saying in as even a tone as she could muster. "I was  _talking_  about giving Leliana and Morrigan _conflicting orders_ before we left."

He blinked at her for a few heartbeats, face turning red. "I . . . Oh." He coughed. "That . . . that actually makes  _a lot_  more sense."

Her blood was rushing in her ears and she would have liked nothing better than to simply flee into her room, but she forced herself to stand her ground and finish the conversation. "So that means no giving orders to anyone behind my back."

Now that he knew what they were actually talking about Alistair didn't seem nearly so disagreeable. "I . . . yeah, I get it. No problem."

Part of her knew that her anger was disproportionate and inflated only because she was so embarrassed, but she ignored that more self-aware part of her mind in favor of hissing, "As for me kissing you—don't worry. It won't happen again!"

She saw his eyes go wide at that, but she didn't wait for his response. She burst into her room and slammed the door behind her, feeling like nothing more than an enormous fool.

* * *

_Calloused fingers caressed her neck before entwining in the hair at the back of her head. She let herself be lowered to the bed, reveling in the sensation of his lips on her neck. Her eyelids fluttered in pleasure as he pressed his body into hers, and she arched her back and wrapped her arms around him, wanting to feel every inch of him against her skin._

_He shifted and she felt_ him _, and if it weren't for their small clothes . . . she moaned into his kiss, aching to feel more. She brought up her legs and wrapped them around his hips and then he was_ pushing _against her and she was near babbling in need._

" _Please, I can't take it," she whispered. "Alistair—"_

With a jolt Elissa gasped awake, splashing water on to the floor. Her heart thudded in her chest as she looked around, realizing after a few shaky seconds that she was still in her bath.

The water was no longer hot, but it was still warm. She must not have been asleep all that long. She gulped, trying to settle her breathing and willing her heartbeat to slow. She leaned back against the tub and stared up at the ceiling, flushing at the salacious details of her dream.  _Where did_ that _come from?_

Her muscles began to relax in the soothing warmth of the water, but before long she bit her lip and flexed her toes. She was calmer now, but she couldn't help noting that she was still quite . . . aroused.

It was a little surprising, but she supposed it wasn't entirely unexpected. She couldn't remember the last time she'd  _relaxed_  in quite that way.

Her sub-conscious mind must know that she needed it, she realized as she drew her fingertips over the tops of her breasts. She didn't often feel the need to indulge in this sort of self-gratification, but when she did, she felt no shame in the act. It was a basic physical need like any other, and Elissa found it rather convenient that she could provide for herself in this way, without needing another person.

Unfortunately camp life did not provide the kind of privacy such self-ministration required, but now . . .

Her eyes drifted closed again as she started to tentatively explore her body—it was somewhat foreign to her now, with the addition of the muscles the Fade essences had provided. She ran her hand over breasts that seemed perkier now and sighed as her nipples pebbled under her touch, before biting her lip to keep from groaning as she gathered her small breasts in her hands and gently squeezed them.

The sensation was intoxicating—it'd been so rare that she felt anything other than miserable, or sad or scared—giving in to the pleasures of her flesh was far too tempting now that she'd started.

She let her fingers slip between her legs and started slowly stroking the little nub at the apex of her folds, feeling her heartbeat start to quicken along with her breath. She bit her lip and groaned, surprised at how quickly she felt the tension building within her.

She closed her eyes and leaned back, flexing her feet as she increased the steady pace of her strokes. But as she did she started imagining a different hand sinking into the water and touching her. She imagined holding on to his muscled bicep as he stroked her, and gasped when she imagined him lowering his head to capture her nipple in his mouth.

She paused and opened her eyes with a sudden rush of guilt.  _What am I doing?_

She'd never really required this kind of specific . . . visualization, before. She bit her lip, feeling a flush of shame. It seemed terribly indecent to fantasize about Alistair this way, especially after the awkward conversation they just had.

_And especially after Rory . . ._

But was it her fault if he was an attractive person and her body was only reacting the way it was designed to? It certainly didn't  _mean_  anything, except that she was a normal, healthy adult.

And it felt  _so good_  and  _Maker knew_  she needed this . . .

Having accepted that explanation almost as soon as she made it she started slowly moving her finger in a circle again, fully giving herself over to the pleasure of it and letting go of any lingering guilt. What she did in her own mind, with her own body in her own room was her own business, and so long as that's all she did, where was the harm?

She imagined that it was Alistair's hand instead of her own on her, that he was leaning over the bathtub, sleeves rolled up to the elbow. She felt the smooth silk of his shirt under her wet hands as she gripped his shoulder and moaned aloud at his ministrations, feeling the tension build as he increased the tempo of his fingers. In her fantasy she opened her eyes and he stared at her, eyes dark with lust, before he bending down to hungrily capture her mouth in a demanding kiss.

She came with a breathy whisper of "Alistair" on her lips, all of the tension and stress of the previous day melting away into the water in one shuddering breath.

* * *

_Thanks to_ **Riptide Monzarc** _for his fine beta-ing! And thanks to everyone who has favorited, followed, and/or reviewed._


	28. Poison

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isolde urges Alistair and Elissa to go after the ashes, but Elissa has a better idea.

_Baby, you've got the sort of eyes that tell me tales  
_ _that your sort of mouth just will not say_

— _Sort of,_ Ingrid Michaelson

Isolde was being weird.

If it were any other noblewoman Alistair might have used a different word to describe her. Charitable. Generous. Accommodating. Maybe even . . .  _nice._

Not only had the Arlessa offered up her home for the Wardens and their party to stay in as long as they needed, but she had also given them all several new outfits (the clothes were almost  _too_  fine, and he found himself happy with an excuse to don his armor instead this morning) and impressed upon them at every opportunity that anything she had to provide was theirs for the asking.

And it wouldn't have been quite so weird, he supposed, given the Arlessa's gratitude, if she hadn't actually  _included_  him in all these effusive displays of generosity. Rather than simply ignoring him, or shooting him evil glares when no one could see, she looked at him as if he were any other member of Elissa's party, and not the castle bastard she had loathed so completely so many years before.

It was a little disconcerting, and part of him would have preferred to go back to being ignored, but another, larger part, actually found himself relaxing in the comforts that Redcliffe Castle had to offer.

Like breakfast—breakfast in the castle was  _amazing._ Heaping mounds of scrambled eggs. Thick, juicy slices of ham. Bread, still warm and flaky from the oven. Any kind of jam you could think of. Not to mention the juices—the apple cider he had before, but the orange juice was like drinking liquid sunshine and he had to stop himself from asking for a fourth glass, though he sincerely wanted it.

"Sheesh, they weren't kidding about that Warden appetite, were they?"

He glanced over at Solona at his left, before shrugging and popping the last bite of the bread he was eating in his mouth. "Nope," was all he said in response, before stealing another piece of bread from the platter Wynne passed him.

Solona picked at some berries on her plate. "Does Elissa eat like this too?"

"You'll see soon enough." He glanced around the dining table. Wynne sat across from him and next to Leliana, while he sat between Solona and Sten. He didn't know where Morrigan was off to, and didn't really care. He supposed Prince was either with her or his mistress. "If she ever comes out of the Arl's study again."

He hadn't seen Elissa since their wonderfully awkward conversation yesterday. She hadn't come to dinner when they were all summoned, but Wynne checked in on her and reported back that she was merely tired and catching up on some much needed sleep. He supposed that was probably true—she hadn't slept on the boat ride back by all accounts.

Then, this morning she rose before the lot of them, and had already locked herself in the Arl's study by the time he came down for breakfast. He couldn't help feeling like she was avoiding him, and he couldn't really blame her if she was after yesterday, but he was doing his best not to dwell on it.

"What is she doing in there anyway?"

He shrugged, not wanting to get drawn into a conversation about Elissa with  _Solona_ , of all people. "Super-secret genius stuff, I guess."

Before Solona could come up with a response to that, a shadow fell over them and Alistair looked up to see Teagan standing behind his chair. He smiled warmly down at him, before looking over the rest of the party. "Good morning! I trust everyone has had enough to eat?" The satisfied murmurs he received in response made his smile deepen. "Please—make yourselves at home. We're all just so grateful for everything you've done."

The sounds of dining resumed and Alistair was considering having yet another helping of eggs when he felt Teagan's hand on his shoulder. He glanced up and Teagan lowered his head. "When you're finished dining, if you could fetch Elissa and bring her to Isolde's parlor, we have something we'd like to discuss with you."

Alistair almost blurted out, "Can't you get a servant to do it?" but remembered his manners just in time. "Of course, Bann Teagan," he murmured instead.

Teagan squeezed his shoulder. "Please, Alistair. Call me Uncle."

Alistair blinked at him as he watched him go. That was . . . interesting. With a shrug he turned back, only to find Solona raising an eyebrow up at him. "Uncle?"

He'd been considering a fourth helping of eggs, but that made up his mind for him. He coughed. "Excuse me, I have to find Elissa," he said, scooting back in his chair and rising from the table. Solona stood up, too. "Where do you think you're going?"

She pushed her chair back under the table. "With you? Sounds like Teagan wants to discuss Warden business."

He frowned at her and then looked out the door where Teagan had exited. "I . . . don't think it is, actually. It's probably personal."

Solona's eyebrows rose inquisitively, but before she could say anything, Leliana piped up. "Alistair used to live here, Solona. He and the Bann and Arlessa know each other from before."

He gave Leliana a tight little smile and then gestured for Solona to sit. "So, why don't you stay here and eat? We'll come get you if we need you." With that, he raced out of the room, not waiting to see how Solona responded. Fortunately, she didn't appear to follow him.

He found himself standing in front of the closed door of the Arl's study a few minutes later, trying to build up the nerve to enter. Finally he gave a frustrated shake of his head and rapped on the door.

After a few seconds he heard footsteps and then the door opened a crack. Elissa looked up at him. "Oh, it's you!" she said, opening the door further when she saw it was him. She looked him up and down and her expression turned alarmed. "Why are you wearing your armor?"

He was quick to reassure her. "Oh, I was going to head to the training yard after breakfast."

She relaxed at that, and then glanced over her shoulder to the room he couldn't see behind the door, before turning back to him with an expectant look.

_Right_. Just keep pretending that everything was perfectly normal. "Teagan and Isolde want to meet with us."

She gave a  _tsk_  of annoyance. " _Now_?"

"I could always tell them that you're busy."

She chewed her lip, as if considering the idea, before shaking her head. "No, I don't want to be rude," she said with a sigh, before pushing the door open and retreating into the room. "Let me just settle a few things before I leave."

He took a few steps into the study and then froze, amazed at how different the room looked. Elissa had been busy.

The large, ornate desk was covered with all different sized vials—some empty, others filled with liquids in a variety of colors. Various metal tins placed on the desk and bookshelves were filled with dried herbs that added a tangy aroma to the room's atmosphere. Along the back wall stood a collection of small cages—all empty at the moment. And on every available surface there were papers and books spread in disarray.

He stepped around a stack of books to stand in front of the desk. Elissa started putting the lids back on various jars and bottles.

She wore a simple black dress with a crisp, white apron over the front of it. Her hair hung in a single braid that fell over one shoulder. "You look nice," he said, before quite realizing he was saying it.

He saw her flush at that, but she spared him only a quick glance, before shrugging a shoulder and returning to her work. "It's the only dress the Arlessa could find in my size that was the right color," she muttered, almost under her breath.

He started to ask why she needed a black dress, but he stopped, the answer becoming obvious in an instant: she was in mourning. It seemed ridiculously sad to him, all of a sudden, and he couldn't help blurting out, "Elissa." She looked up at him with wide eyes at the urgency of his tone. He went on before she could interrupt him, and before he could think better of it. "I just . . . wanted to thank you. You went out of your way to save the arl's family and you did it, even though it would have been easier not to."

"Oh." Elissa pulled her hands away from the mortar and pestle on the desk to twist them together in front of her. She didn't seem able to meet his gaze.

He took a step closer to the desk. He had to say all this, before he lost his nerve. "There's been so much death and destruction, it . . . well, it makes me feel good that at least we were able to save  _something_ , no matter how small. I owed the arl that much."

"Oh," she said again, eyes still trained on the desk. Her mouth opened as if to say more, but then she shut it and frowned at her hands.

A slow grin started to spread over his face at her discomfort. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but he couldn't help thinking that in spite of her declaration yesterday, all of her awkwardness around him might have a reason . . .

She seemed to come to a decision. "You're welcome," she said with a nod, before finally meeting his gaze and offering a small, shy smile.

That smile bolstered his confidence. "Good!" he said, clapping his hands together. "Now that the warm, fuzzy part of the day is over with we can get back to the ritual dismemberments." At her blank look, he rubbed his chin and looked off to the side. "Oh wait, it's not Tuesday, is it?"

When he looked at her again it was all he could do not to burst out laughing at her incredulous loo, but he made the effort. She glared at him almost defensively. "It is  _not_  a ritual dismemberment. It's an  _autopsy_ , and how else will I be able tell the exact mechanism of the poison?"

He could only half-gape, half-smile down at her. "Um, what now?"

She looked back at the empty cages and then at Alistair, and then she flushed again and shook her head. "Never mind. I see that you were joking now." She undid the ties of her apron and raised an eyebrow up at him. "Very funny," she said, before dropping the apron on the chair and making her way out of the room.

He chuckled to himself as he made to follow her, but couldn't help shooting one last puzzled glance at the animal cages before he shut the door to the study behind him.

* * *

The more Isolde talked about the ashes, the straighter Elissa's spine seemed to become. Alistair did his best to cover his amusement, but he could tell by the way her eyes gradually widened as the Arlessa's impassioned plea went on that she was becoming more irritated by the second.

He was sitting next to Elissa on a small couch that seemed to fit only two people. The Arlessa sat in an ornate, high-backed chair on the other side of the small table, with Teagan at her left in an identical-looking chair.

He had to give Elissa credit—she kept herself composed until Isolde was finished speaking. "Lady Isolde." She inclined her head and placed the delicate teacup and saucer on the table in front of her. "I appreciate your fervor for this idea—"

"Please." Isolde rose from her place across from them and bent over the table, closing the heavy tomes she had strewn over it and gathering up all the loose scrolls and documents that littered it. "Look over this research. I know you are a brilliant woman. Don't take my word for it. See for yourself." With that she handed the entire pile to Elissa before returning to her seat.

"Er . . ." Elissa began, settling the books and papers on her lap as neatly as she could. "I'll take a look. But, even if all of this research checks out, and even if the ashes  _could_  be found, who is to say that they'll actually  _work_?"

Isolde's jaw dropped open. "You doubt the power of Andraste's ashes? She was the Bride of the Maker! If we find the ashes, they could heal Eamon. I know it!"

Elissa seemed about to retort when she glanced over at Teagan, who gave a little frown and shook his head ever-so-slightly.

She set her mouth in a grim line before taking a deep breath. "Very well, Isolde. I will look over this research."

"Thank you! Thank you, Lady Elissa."

Teagan gave a delicate cough. "If you  _do_  deem the lead worthwhile," he said, ignoring the way Isolde turned to him sharply at that. "You may want to seek out Brother Geniviti's home in Denerim, to see if any clues remain on his whereabouts. It is the only place to begin the search, I think."

"If the research checks out . . . perhaps. But I think I have a better idea."

Isolde and Teagan shared a look, before turning back to Elissa. "I will try anything to save my husband," Isolde said, leaning forward in her seat.

"If I can figure out exactly what poison Eamon ingested, I may be able to create a cure myself." She smiled. "With  _alchemy_. Not magic."

Isolde sighed. "Forgive me, Lady Elissa. But we have tried so many remedies, and seen too many healers and mages to count. None of them were able to heal him. If it could be done by a mere mortal, why couldn't  _they_  do it?"

Elissa raised an eyebrow and jutted out her chin proudly. "Because  _they_  weren't  _me_."

Her stone-faced delivery seemed to give the Arlessa a sliver of hope. "Funny, I almost believe you."

Teagan smiled warmly at Elissa. "You  _should_  believe her, Isolde. Elissa has the most brilliant mind of any person I've ever met. If anyone can figure out how to cure the Arl's illness, it's her."

It made Alistair pause, just a little, to see how Elissa seemed to preen at the Bann's compliments, blushing and bringing a hand up to pat her hair. But she brushed it off only a moment later.

She rose, clutching the books and papers to her chest. "Very well, then. I'll look over Geniviti's research, but in the meantime I'll also work to find my  _own_  cure." She nodded at the Bann and the Arlessa in turn. "With your permission, I'd like to get started right away."

Alistair rose and ushered Elissa out into the hallway, accepting Isolde and Teagan's murmured thanks as they left.

They'd only walked a short distance from the parlor when she let out an indecorous snort. " _The Urn of Sacred Ashes?_  Ridiculous! She'd have us traipsing around Ferelden chasing myths and legends."

"Don't beat around the bush, Elissa; tell me how you really feel."

She looked at him doubtfully for a second before rolling her eyes. "It's  _preposterous_. Those knights should have been here, defending the village. Not chasing a child's dream. The Arlessa is an utterly foolish woman."

Was it wrong that it warmed his heart to hear her disparage Isolde? Well, if it was, he didn't want to be right. "In any case, Teagan's right—you'll figure this out if anyone can."

She glanced up at him and gave a little smile, before her face pulled into a thoughtful frown and she faced forward again. "I do hope I remembered to tell Morrigan to bring back  _live_  rabbits."

He couldn't help grinning at that. Say what he would about their relationship and all the awkwardness it entailed-at least being around Elissa was never  _boring_. "Right! Because what good are dead ones?" he said, playing along.

"Exactly! It wouldn't do me any good to poison dead rabbits," she said, far too cheerily.

At that he stopped. "Er . . . what?"

She had taken another few steps. She turned back at him and blinked at him innocently. "How else do you expect me to formulate an antidote?"

"I, uh . . . right." How could he argue with that? A distant part of his mind was laughing at the thought of his damsel being a rabbit-poisoning genius, but he tried to ignore both the amusement and the idea that she was his . . . damsel or anything else. He frowned, struck by a sudden worry. "Listen, I meant what I said—no one has a better shot at finding this cure than you. But, you can't lock yourself in the study all day. You have to keep up your training."

She hugged the books and papers closer to her, and frowned up at him. "You mean with my blades?"

He nodded, encouraged by her thoughtful expression. "You were  _amazing_  in that tower—seriously, you saved my life against that Pride demon. From what I hear you were a total menace." She flushed furiously at that, and he felt a little guilty for just how much he enjoyed it. "But . . . you can't just rest now. You can't risk—"

"—losing the gains I've made?"

He nodded. "Not just in skills, but in pure muscle mass, too." He made a gesture at her general direction. "If you want to keep that . . . uh . . . new physique of yours, you're going to have to work at it."

Elissa sighed. "That does make sense, I suppose. I'll start training again with Leliana tomorrow."

"That's a start, but you can't just spar against the same type of fighter all the time, either."

He saw the moment she comprehended. "Right. I'm weak against plate and shield fighters."

He smiled at her matter-of-fact tone. It was good to see her objectively assessing her abilities, rather than focusing over much on her perceived failings. "Exactly."

She looked up at him with a start. "Are you saying  _you_  want to spar with me?"

"Well, yeah. I think it'd be good for you. For me, too," he added, somewhat generously. "I can always use practice against quicker, dual-wielding opponents."

She looked at him doubtfully and he figured she read it for the piece of flattering fiction it was, but she wasn't inclined to argue with him, apparently. "That makes good sense. I need today to set up my laboratory, but we can start training tomorrow. Meet you on the practice field at dawn?"

"Dawn, eh? We'll make a soldier out of you yet."

She smiled and rolled her eyes at him, before turning to unlock the study and slip inside it.

As he headed toward the practice field he had to congratulate himself. Some instinct told him that it wouldn't do Elissa's mental state any favors to hole herself up all alone in the Arl's study, day-in, day-out, so it was good that he had come up with a legitimate reason for her to step outside.

And if it resulted in the two of them spending more time together in close proximity, well that was just a happy coincidence, wasn't it?

* * *

It turned out it wasn't pure flattery after all when he said it would do him some good to spar with a dual-wielding, rogue-type fighter. The next morning, after running Elissa through a few strengthening exercises and a good chunk of time spent instructing her on the basics of shield fighting and the weaknesses it entailed, they'd started sparring, and he realized that she'd come a lot farther than he'd have thought possible. Those essences in the Fade must have really helped.

He was admittedly tentative, at first, afraid of either discouraging or just plain hurting her, but as they learned each other's moves he found himself being put through his paces during their first match. It still ended with his practice sword at her throat, and her rolling her eyes and saying "yield," but as he helped her to her feet he didn't think he imagined how pleased she was with herself for going toe-to-toe with him.

"That was good. You just got a little too aggressive, too soon. It was the right strategy. Just be a bit more patient."

She nodded and brushed the dirt off her leathers. Her face was a bit red from the exertion, and she had some stray hairs sticking to her forehead with sweat. She wiped her forearm across her face. "Got it. Let's go again."

He lost count of how many times they faced off after that, and though each and every match still ended with him as the victor, she did make him work for it.

The sun was high in the sky, and still Elissa hadn't called for a break. He realized then that she wouldn't end the training session until  _he_  said it was over, and as much fun as he was having he was mindful of overworking her. "Alright. One more match, then let's call it a day."

Elissa gulped the water from her waterskin before replacing the cap and nodding at him. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and hung the skin back on the fence post. "Alright," she said, drawing her practice daggers. "Let's make this last one count."

And that she did. Her attacks were quicker than they'd been the entire time they were fighting, and her blows were delivered with more force. He had to work to block them and regain the offensive.

"I see you still have a little fire in you," he teased, and then gasped as he parried a blow and had to leap back to avoid being skewered by her other dagger, coming in fast and low under his sword arm. He still managed to dance away easily, but he couldn't help grinning.

She was great! She'd obviously been holding back. Perhaps after she'd gleaned all she could from his technical knowledge she decided to put it all into practice all at once and come at him with a fury he would have expected her to be too tired for by now.

She didn't answer, intent as she was on attacking him. His sword arm was getting tired from parrying all of her lightning quick moves, and he realized that if the fight went on much longer he would be likely to make a mistake. He was proud of both her technique and strategy, but he wasn't about to just hand a victory over to her, either. She'd want to earn it, anyway. He drew upon his Templar training to keep his moves sharp and disciplined, and focused on not giving in to the exhaustion that was teasing at his muscles.

After a barrage of attacks to his right, she started to dance to his left. He prepared for it, but at the last second she twisted around him on the other side, and it was all he could do to spin and catch her up close with a shield bash to the body to keep her from slashing at him under his arm.

He felt the  _thud_  against his shield as he connected solidly with her body, and the next thing he knew Elissa was sailing away from him, slammed backwards in the air by the blow of his unanticipated and forceful shield bash. She landed and rolled over a few times before coming to a stop and lying face-down in the dirt.

_Maker's balls!_ He'd gotten so caught up in the duel that he hadn't checked his own strength. If he'd actually hurt her, he'd feel  _terrible . . ._  He dropped his sword and shield and ran over, his heart in his throat at how still she was.

"Elissa," he panted. He bent down to touch her shoulder, desperate to find out if she was alright. "Elissa," he repeated.

And then the world went topsy-turvy. Elissa moved with the quickness of a snake, kicking his legs out from under him and then leaping to her feet in two graceful moves. He landed painfully on his back, and to add insult to injury, she flopped down to sit on his stomach with a painful  _thud._

"Ah ha!" She placed her hands on her hips and smirked down at him from where she sat, straddling him. " _Never_ , let your guard down."

He rolled his eyes. "I suppose you learned that trick from Leliana?"

"No, I learned that one from having an older brother with a short temper who was twice my size." She crossed her arms to her chest, grinning down at him triumphantly.

Her grin was contagious, but he tried to check it. "You realize that move only worked because I didn't  _really_  want you dead, right?" She shifted slightly, and in that instant he became acutely aware of just where he was: Elissa was sitting astride him, and  _Maker_  when had he rested his hands on the top of her thighs? He didn't even remember doing it. He snatched them away and held his arms stiffly at his side. "Um, can you get off me now?"

It was only then that he noticed how she how she had completely frozen, and was staring at him with that far-off look that meant she was thinking. Her brows knit together. "Say that again."

He could feel the blush creeping up his cheek. "Um, get off me?"

"No!" She scowled down at him and leaned forward, placing her hand on the middle of his chest. "Before that."

His eyes went even wider, sure that she could feel how fast and hard his heart was beating even through the thick splint mail that he was wearing. "Uh . . . I don't actually want you dead?" At that her eyes went wide and her mouth fell open, but she still didn't say anything or make a move to get off of him. He raised an eyebrow up at her. "Surely this isn't a surprise?"

"Shh!" she said, and put her other hand over his mouth, and that most certainly didn't help  _anything at all._

He could see from the look on her face that she was on to something, and nothing he said or did would stop her from following this trail of thought, so really all he could do was lie still and not get in her way . . . and pray like hell she didn't scoot backwards. . .

"He didn't want him dead," she said softly, looking off into the distance. "Because if you want someone dead . . . you  _kill_  them." She looked back down at him, and her eyes had a crazy gleam to them. "I've been going about this all wrong!" She put her hands on his shoulders and leaned forward. "I don't need to  _create_  a cure. I need to  _steal_  one!"

She smiled down at him in a look that was full of wonder, and he couldn't quite help how his breath caught in his throat. Her face was beautiful when it lit up like this, and now their faces were so close . . .

And yet, he couldn't resist the impulse that came over him to crook an eyebrow upward and shoot her a cheeky grin. "So . . . are you going to kiss me again?"

Her gaze flicked to his lips for a few breathless seconds before she caught herself and sat up, big green eyes going impossibly wide. " _What_?! Don't be ridiculous! Of course I'm not going to kiss you!"

"Well, you  _are_  straddling him. Can't blame a fella for getting the wrong idea."

Both their heads snapped up to find Solona smirking down at the two of them with her arms crossed in front of her.

Elissa made a strangled noise and then scrambled off of him. If his face was as red as hers—and by the way his cheeks burned, he imagined it was—they must look like quite the guilty pair.

"We were just training," Elissa gasped, but then she shook her head. "It doesn't matter. Solona! I have  _wonderful_  news! I've figured out how to cure the Arl!"

_Oh yeah._  She  _had_  been trying to tell him something. "How?" he asked, getting to his feet.

She whirled to face him, but catching his glance seemed to remind her of their prior . . .  _position_  because she flushed again, and then she whirled back to Solona and addressed the Circle mage. "All this time, I was thinking that  _I_  needed to develop the antidote—but I don't!" She looked triumphant. " _Loghain_  has the antidote!"

Solona's eyebrows rose. "Oh?"

Elissa nodded excitedly. "Yes! Why use a poison that doesn't kill right away, but lets the victim linger in a deep sleep? There's no reason for it, unless—"

"Unless he never truly intended to kill Eamon," Alistair finished for her, finally understanding her excited babbling.

"Exactly!" Elissa said again, agitated in all her excitement. "And if he didn't, that means he  _must_  have the antidote! He must!" She smiled as she shook her head to herself. "We just have to steal it."

"How the hell are we going to accomplish that?"

She looked up at him with a joyful smile. "Leliana!"

The two of them could only blink dumbly at Elissa's explanation. "Huh?" he said, screwing up an eyebrow. What would an ex-Chantry sister know about stealing rare antidotes?

Elissa rolled her eyes and ran a hand through her hair. "I'll explain it all later. I've got to tell the others!"

With one last excited smile for the both of them she turned and raced back to the castle. He could only stare after her in confusion, wondering how Leliana figured into all of this, and willing his heartbeat to slow down.

He felt an elbow jab into his side. Solona shot him a devilish grin and then pointedly cast her gaze below his belt. "You gonna follow her or do you need a few minutes?"

He didn't think it possible but his face grew even hotter. "What? Just . . . no . . . shut  _up_. You . . . you . . . You're a terrible person," he stammered, before walking away.

Her laughter tinkled in his ears but he ignored it, and tried like hell to focus on what was important: Elissa had a plan for curing the Arl. The hope bubbling up in his chest was  _real_ —if she was this excited about the plan, it had to be a good one.

Not quite so important, perhaps, but equally pressing was the fact that he was pretty sure Elissa had been about to kiss him again. Might have, even, if he'd kept his big mouth shut.

_Still . . ._

He grinned to himself as he pushed open the large doors of the castle to go look for his rabbit-poisoning damsel, his exhaustion completely forgotten in the wake of his own deductions.

* * *

_Author's note: next week on **Poison and Wine:** Zevran!_

_Special thanks to **Riptide Monzarc**  for being a fantastic beta. Check out his stories! And thanks to everyone that has favorited, followed, and/or reviewed. I appreciate the feedback!_


	29. Surprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zevran is curious about the woman he has been hired to kill.

_Stones taught me to fly  
_ _Love taught me to lie  
_ _Life taught me to die  
_ _So it's not hard to fall  
_ _When you float like a cannonball  
_ — _Cannonball,_ Damien Rice

_It is a good day to die._

The thought struck Zevran as a foolish one the second it came to him. He had brought death to countless people over many years on all sorts of days, and he didn't think it made much difference to any of them whether the sky was overcast or sunny on the day of their death. No, the only thing that mattered was that their death was  _that_  day, and a good day to die is only ever on a day that is not today.

And yet, it was a good day to die. Bright, beautiful, and sunny, indeed, but more than that, it was the day of his choosing.

He stood in the clearing, flexing his fingers as he waited for Teresa to come back with his marks. He didn't doubt they would be wary and prepared. The ambush he had planned was not a particularly subtle one. It rankled his sense of professionalism only a little to use such cheap and mediocre local talent for this job, since he doubted any of them would survive the encounter anyway. It would have been a waste of good coin and talent to hire skilled assassins for this work. As it was, he was performing a service—culling the incompetent from the criminal class in Denerim. They should thank him, really.

Teresa emerged with the Wardens' party in tow, not bothering to hide her knowing smirk during the few strides it took her to close the distance between them. He kept his expression even as she walked up to him and he gave the signal for his men and women to appear.

He was pleased when the Wardens' party came into view. It appeared that no matter who delivered the final blow today he stood a terrific chance of being killed by someone utterly gorgeous. He gave the next signal and yelled out, "The Grey Wardens die here!"

The tree log fell, mostly on cue, but a smoke bomb went off and the Wardens' party scattered, spreading out and attacking his men from all different angles.

He laughed a little to himself, before slipping into the shadows to observe the fighting and pick out his target. He had a particular one in mind.

The Wardens' party were skilled, of that there was no doubt. His hedge mage was no match for the trio of casters they faced, and he watched as Teresa was first frozen and then shattered into bloody chunks, before turning his attention to the magnificent menfolk of the party, who hacked and slashed their way through his archers as if they were stalks of grass. Ah well, you get what you pay for, was that not true?

Still, he hadn't seen the most intriguing target yet, and so he slipped between overturned carts and the piled-up crates to search, so far going quite unnoticed in the chaos of battle. The mabari ran right by him on its way to tackle one of his warriors—it must have considered him harmless with the way he was skulking about.

He scanned the battlefield, looking for the woman his employer had been so certain needed dying. "She won't cause much trouble," the Arl had said dismissively, before inclining his head and adding in a serious tone, "but you should make  _sure_  she's dead."

He had scoffed, as if he needed professional advice from a Fereldan noble. But still, the command made him curious. If the lady were so harmless, why did she need to die so badly?

 _There_. He saw her fighting Gustav—a man who wielded two daggers and towered over the petite, blonde woman. He slunk up the hill until he was in position to observe more closely.

The woman had some talent for blades, but it was a knock-down, dirty scrabble of a fight, and while it lasted Zevran wasn't sure who'd come out alive at the end. He could have fixed that—the Warden's back was to him and he could easily plunge his blade in just the right spot to end her life and save that of his hireling's at any time.

And he would have, perhaps, if it were any other day but today. Now, he found himself too curious to interfere.

She was lovely, to be sure, even with the bloodied nose she was now sporting. She was short, but well proportioned, with a rounded little ass and small, perky breasts. Lovely, yes, but it only took a few moments to watch her fight to assess her combat ability and determine she was hardly dangerous.

Well, except to Gustav, apparently, he thought in wry amusement as the young woman tossed a fistful of dirt into the thug's face. That proved to be the poor man's undoing, as he earned a dagger to the gut when he staggered backward blindly.

The woman stood above the man's corpse for a few heartbeats and Zevran watched appreciatively as her chest heaved in large, gulping breaths.

 _Not particularly skilled or conditioned._ He was tempted to be disappointed. Being killed by someone beautiful had a certain appeal to him, but he doubted this woman could be its deliverance. She simply was not his match.

He stood watching her, his arms crossed over his chest, as she knelt and retrieved her dagger, before turning to face him.

She startled bodily when she saw him there—eyes going impossibly wide—and then snapped into a battle stance, risking a quick glance around. Seeing no one else near, she turned back to him and regarded him warily. "Why didn't you kill me?"

He had not moved to draw his weapons.  _She is not completely senseless, then._  He shrugged a shoulder nonchalantly. "Perhaps I was too busy enjoying the view." He let his gaze trail up and down her curves before letting it settle on her green eyes again. "I find it rather appealing."

Her mouth fell open. "You'd take time out of the middle of a battle to  _ogle_  me?" Something about her sincere surprise made his lips twitch. "What kind of an assassin are you?"

 _No, not senseless at all._  "You barely bested a mediocre fighter." He casually drew his blades and twirled them expertly in his hands, first clockwise and then counter, before raising them in a battle stance of his own. "What kind of Grey Warden are you?"

There was flash of something that looked very much like anger at his insult, but it was gone and quickly replaced with a cunning expression. "Why do you work with mediocre fighters?"

He laughed and took a step forward, enjoying the flicker of fear that passed over her features as she stepped lightly backwards. "Are we to simply answer each other's questions with more questions all day long or shall we start this dance of death?"

She started to sneer at him, but then her gaze flicked over his shoulder and her eyes widened for a fraction of a second before returning to him, lips pursing ever-so-slightly. It was a subtle tell, but a tell nonetheless, and he felt a surge of disappointment when he whirled to face the threat she'd given away was behind him.

Only there was nothing there. With a start he whirled back, just in time to see a foot clear the rest of the way up the embankment as the Warden scrabbled her way away from him and into the woods that flanked the canyon.

He froze there a moment, feeling a mixture of chagrin, surprise, and curiosity. That was quite possibly the  _oldest_  feint in the book, but she had sold it perfectly.

Perhaps he'd underestimated the little dove.

But what then? He glanced around, hearing the din of fighting die down. The battle would be over soon; the Wardens' party victorious, and so his fate—the one he'd chosen in full faith today—would be sealed. Which was what he wanted, wasn't it?

And yet . . . he had to wonder, what was her plan? Did she mean to lure him into the woods after all or had she simply just run away from him? Had she been feigning her lack of skill with blades? She couldn't have known he was behind her when she was fighting Gustav . . . could she?

One simple expression and an odd instruction from his employer inspired a whole host of questions—questions he was running out of time to answer.

 _What was it they say about the cat and curiosity?_ Perhaps this was just another, more interesting means to the same end.

He sheathed his daggers and leaped up the stone embankment, nimbly catching roots that were sticking out of the ground to help him up the side and over it to the ground above, before dashing into the woods after his fate.

* * *

Pain. Throbbing from the back of his skull and through his temples. That was the first sensation, followed by the sharp burning around his wrists he immediately recognized as coarse rope tied far too tightly.

But . . . pain meant life.  _Curious._

He opened his eyes. The light stung them and started a sharper ache in his forehead, and he winced them shut again involuntarily. But, his eyes were open long enough to see several blurry shapes looming over him. "I rather thought I would wake up dead. Or not wake up at all, as the case may be." He tried opening his eyes again, and this time, he kept them open, ignoring the pain until his vision focused and he could see the figures in front of him.

The blonde-haired woman stood at the forefront of her party, staring down at him with arms crossed against her chest. He frowned, trying to remember. There had been a chase through the woods . . . a stun trap . . . the Warden's puzzled and wary expression . . . and then blackness. He had thought that was the end.

He peered up the woman who had so inflamed his curiosity. "I see you haven't killed me yet."

The expression on her face was thoughtful, and she took a few heartbeats to answer. "You have information I want."

It was a simple declaration—neither a request nor a demand.  _Interesting._

Zevran tried to adjust himself into a more comfortable position, but it was difficult with his hands tied behind his back. The movement gave him time to come to a decision. It would seem he really was that curious. "So I'm to be interrogated? Let me save you some time." Finally, he got his back propped up onto the log behind him, and could focus on shooting his most disarming grin up at the pretty, scowling Warden. "My name is Zevran. Zev, to my friends." Her left eyebrow shot up at his candor. "I am a member of the Antivan Crows, brought here for the sole purpose of slaying any surviving Grey Wardens. Which I have failed at, sadly."

"An Antivan Crow?" The man—Zevran supposed he'd be have thought of him as a big man if he weren't standing in front of and completely dwarfed by a white-haired giant—asked in confusion.

A red-haired woman with full, luscious lips spoke up, an Orlesian lilt in her words, "An order of assassins out of Antiva. Very powerful, and renowned for always getting the job done . . . so to speak." She shrugged and there was a twinkle of amusement in the woman's crystal blue eyes. "Someone went to great expense to hire this man."

"Someone? I'll give you three guesses who—"

His captor snapped her head up to glare at the other two, and whatever look she shot them silenced anymore of their speculation.

 _Interesting again._ She turned back to regard him coolly. "Who hired you?"

Every question she asked provided a few more moments of breathing, at least. "One of them was a rather taciturn fellow in the capital. Loghain, I think his name was? Yes, that's it."

There were a few murmurs from the party at that, but his interrogator kept her eyes on him and didn't appear surprised. "One of them?"

He coughed, and the movement made his back scrape painfully against the log behind him, informing him of a series of cuts, aches and bruises on his back. He must've been dragged out of the forest. "I suspect that there is another name of you'd find more compelling—he seemed most interested in  _you_. A man by the name of Howe. An Arl, I believe?"

 _That_  definitely got her attention. "What did he say? Tell me  _exactly_."

"Nothing so specific, I'm afraid. He simply encouraged me to ensure  _your_  death in particular, over and above that of your handsome friend over there." He glanced at the other man, who was staring down at him suspiciously. "No offense," he added with a wink.

A flush crept over the man's cheek and Zevran had to resist chuckling aloud. A fearsome warrior who blushed easily? This party kept getting more interesting.

"When were you to meet with them again?" the woman asked in a sharp tone.

He shook his head. "I wasn't. If I had succeeded, I would have returned home and the Crows would have informed your Loghain of the results . . . if he didn't already know." He gave as much of a shrug as he could with his arms tied behind his back. "If I had failed, I would be dead. Or I should be, at least as far as the Crows are concerned. No need to see Loghain then."

She didn't bother hiding her disappointment, but she did crook up an eyebrow. " _If_  you had failed?"

"What can I say? I'm an eternal optimist. Although, the chances of succeeding at this point seem a bit slim, don't they?" He laughed, and it turned into a racking cough. His Warden captor merely stared at him blankly. "No, I don't suppose you'd find that funny, would you?"

Her eyes went wide and she shook her head, clearly confused by his amusement. "Why are you telling me all of this?"

"Why not? I wasn't paid for silence. Not that I offered it for sale, precisely. As it is, if you're done with the interrogation, I've a proposal for you. If you're of a mind."

The Warden ignored the snort of derision from her sandy-haired companion and simply nodded her head at him to continue.

"Well, here's the thing. I failed to kill you, so my life is forfeit. That's how it works. If you don't kill me, the Crows will. Thing is, I like living." He surprised himself with the declaration, but it turned out to be true after all. "And you obviously are the sort to give the Crows pause. So let me serve you, instead."

"Yeah, right!" The man behind her burst out. "Why on  _earth_ would we ever—"

She held up a hand and glared at him until he fell quiet with a disgruntled sigh, before turning back to Zevran with an appraising look. "An interesting proposal," she said at last. "And I may accept it, depending on how you answer one question."

 _That seems promising._ Her companions murmured disquietly behind her, but didn't put to voice any protests. He had to take that as a good sign. "Very well."

She leaned forward, big green eyes shining with anticipation. "What do you know about poison?"

He grinned broadly. Perhaps today was not such a good day to die after all.

* * *

His new companions had elected to settle themselves for the night in a camp made not far from the sight of his ill-fated "ambush." By the time the bodies had been looted and burned, the sun bruised the sky with purple and blood-orange streaks across the Western horizon.

Zevran stared at the sunset he was not supposed to see, feeling strangely . . . empty. Still, empty was light—lighter than he'd felt in weeks anyway. He couldn't quite explain the path his life had taken in the last few hours, but he supposed it might turn out to be an entertaining one.

Or it would. If he could ever lose the humorless prick of a shadow he'd managed to acquire.

With a sigh he set down his bowl of stew and rose from the log upon which he'd been sitting for the evening meal. As he did, Alistair rose as well.

"Oh good," Zevran said, "I was worried for a moment that you'd forgotten your newfound obsession with my hindquarters."

Alistair didn't even blush at his innuendo anymore.  _So terribly boring_. "Where do you think you're going?"

"I have business to attend to in the woods. Business of a delicate nature. The kind not normally spoken of in polite company, if you catch my meaning."

"Well, let's go then."

That was one straw too many. "Really? You want to come with me? Perhaps you'd like to hold my member for me as well? I prefer a couple of firm shakes at the end, if you don't mind, but feel free to improvise."

 _That_  finally earned another blush, a more vibrant one than all the others combined, but before Alistair could open his mouth to respond, Elissa had materialized between them. She really was quite quick. "Alistair," she said, voice deep with command. "Can we have a word?"

He looked as if to argue, but something in the other Warden's face must've given him pause, because he sighed instead, and then said "fine."

Elissa looked at Zevran over her shoulder. "If you'll excuse us," she said, before pulling on Alistair's arm and dragging him away from the campfire.

They were still talking by the time he got back from relieving himself in the woods. They stood some twenty feet away, shielded from the others by an enormous tree, and likely far enough away that the humans in camp couldn't hear them.

Zevran settled himself back on the log and quietly concentrated on listening to their hushed voices—his elven hearing made the conversation easy to overhear.

"I thought by now you trusted my judgment," Elissa was saying, a hint of reproach in her tone.

He heard the other Warden sigh. "I  _do_ ," he insisted. "But . . . I don't think that means we should entirely let our guard down."

"You don't need to hound his movements. He won't harm me. Or anyone else in camp." He thought he heard Alistair start to protest, but Elissa cut off his speech with a rustle of movement. "Do you really think I would risk the safety of everyone with us if I weren't sure?" She waited a beat, and then went on in a quiet voice he had to strain to hear. "Do you think I'd risk  _your_  safety?"

Her tone seemed to escape the Warden standing right in front of her, however. He gave a little snort. " _Right_. Can't have anything happen to the royal bastard, can we? Gotta protect the heir."

Elissa gave a deep, drawn-out sigh. "I really wish you hadn't said that."

"Why? Is there some  _other_  reason you're worried about my safety?" Alistair's voice had turned low and teasing.

Zevran's lips twitched at what he imagined had to be an exasperated expression on Elissa's face, if her voice was any indication. " _Because_ , I'm pretty sure  _elf_  hearing is much more sensitive than human hearing."

The smile burst upon his lips before he could control it, and when he looked up, sure enough, both Wardens were peeking round the tree to see his reaction. All he could do was wave at them in amusement, not bothering to hide that he had heard.

"Dammit," Alistair muttered, and gave a frustrated wave of his arm. "Now pretty much  _everybody_  knows."

Elissa frowned when she saw Zevran watching them openly. "Well," she said evenly. "They were all bound to find out sooner or later. I'll talk to him."

He gave a disgruntled sigh, before looking back at Zevran and shooting him a frown of his own. "I swear, if he hurts anyone in this party at all I will  _end_  him," he said, clearly intending the elf to hear every word.

"He  _won't._  I'm sure of it."

Alistair glared at Zevran a moment further before turning back to Elissa and saying in a much lower voice. "I mean it. If he so much as lays a finger on you—"

"Alistair,  _stop!_ " Elissa whispered, her face going instantly red. She glanced around, as if the entire camp could hear their conversation.

Zevran picked up his bowl of stew and grinned into it, attempting to tune out whatever closing words the two Wardens had for each other. As far as overheard conversations go, it had already been fairly revealing. He could allow them a few seconds of their awkward privacy, he supposed.

She appeared a few minutes later, standing between him and the campfire for a few tentative moments, before seating herself next to him on the log. She kept her gaze trained on the fire as she spoke. "So. You heard all that."

He had the grace not to pretend otherwise, and merely shrugged. "Indeed, it was a most illuminating conversation."

She looked at him. "I trust I have your discretion in this matter?"

He cocked an eyebrow at her. "Do you mean my discretion about the matter of your Warden partner's royal heritage, or his royal case of  _cachondo_  for you?"

She closed her eyes and shook her head, apparently unable to come up with a response for a few seconds. Finally, her eyes opened and the sincere appeal in her gaze actually gave him a twinge of remorse for his teasing. "Can't I ask for your discretion about everything?"

It was such an innocent and vulnerable appeal, so different from the absolute certainty she'd exuded before.

A small frown managed to make its way to his lips before he managed to smooth his expression. He doubted Elissa noticed anything. "My darling Warden," he said, reaching over to pick up her hand and bring it almost to his lips. "I would not have earned my reputation as a lover if I did not know how to be discreet."

She laughed then—high-pitched and genuine, and the sound was unexpectedly pleasant. "If you were so discreet you wouldn't have a reputation," she said, smiling widely and looking inordinately pleased with herself. She seemed to catch herself after a moment though, and cast a furtive glance around the camp before pulling her hand away. "You're not really helping, you know," she said with a sigh.

He couldn't help himself. She really was quite the charming mixture of cunning and innocence, of awkwardness and certainty. "Oh, but perhaps I am," he purred, leaning closer. "Perhaps you  _want_ to make someone jealous. Would I not be  _most_  well-suited to such a task?"

He spared a glance around the camp himself, to see where his one-time shadow had settled, and if he was witnessing their conversation. Sure enough, Alistair was frowning over at them, looking for the entire world as if he'd like to skin Zevran alive.

With a chuckle he turned back to Elissa.

Her face had turned suddenly somber. "Why didn't you kill me when you had the chance?"

He could not help the perfect stillness that came over him, or the way his expression instantly sobered at the whip-crack change of subject. He recovered after a few heartbeats, however, breathing out through his nose and shooting her a lascivious grin. "Perhaps you underestimate the power of your beauty,  _mi querida._ "

She turned and looked at him out of the corner of her eyes. "I . . . really have no idea if that's true," she said, in all seriousness. Zevran found his eyes widening of amusement of their own accord. She cocked her head to the side and frowned down at her hands. "Also . . . back in the woods . . ."

He felt himself go too still again, but he willed himself to relax and keep his expression neutral.

"When you tripped that second trap of mine—" She looked up at him and narrowed her eyes. "Why did you  _smile_?"

He let out the breath he was holding and gave a dry chuckle. "Ah yes, the  _second_  trap of yours. The one I tripped on after deftly maneuvering around your  _first_ , cleverly but not quite concealed trap." He raised his eyebrows at her. "Impressive work."

She looked at him doubtfully. "Why do you sound so pleased at being caught?"

He smiled at her slowly, remembering his reaction in the woods.

_His prey was quick, and nimble, and left just enough of a trail for him to follow, but not such an obvious one as to arouse suspicion. Which of course, only made him more wary._

_It had been a disappointment to spot the trap in the path, then, mostly obscured by a fairly suspicious looking pile of leaves._

_Ah well, the little dove would die for her mistake, and he'd go back to the camp to face the others._

_He stepped lightly around the trap . . . only to find that the dirt which looked undisturbed next to it concealed an expertly designed stun trap._

_Trying to move his body was like trying to move through solid ice. Only his head remained free, and he turned to look when he heard a rustling from the path beside him._

_It was her. She walked up to him, daggers drawn, and stared up at him for a few seconds, an expression of defiance etched across her features._

_He couldn't help it. He smiled._

" _Mi querida,_  in my line of work, death happens. There would be worse ways to go than at the hands of someone so beautiful and dangerous." He shot her a crooked smile. It was all true, really. "It was . . . a surprise to so badly underestimate you, Elissa Cousland. And I do not often find myself surprised."

She rose, and regarded him with a look he could not quite interpret. "Well, whatever your reason for sparing me, thank you. I trust that I'm right about you." She glanced around the camp and then back down at Zevran, eyebrows still drawn together in a frown. "You won't harm any of us."

He let a sincere smile grace his lips for a few moments, before picking up her hand and inclining his head. "You have my word. Until such a time as you choose to release me from my pledge to you, I am your man . . . without reservation." He brought her hand to his lips and brushed her fingers with them. "This I swear."

Her eyes went wide at the gesture. "Oh." She pulled her hand away and twisted it with her other one in front of her. "That's . . . um, I mean . . . Thank you." With that she shot him a small smile, and then turned to go.

He let out a breath, feeling a surprising amount of tension leave his muscles when the Warden walked away from him.

Today had turned into an interesting one in which to live after all. For the first time in months, he found himself wondering what kind of day tomorrow would be.

He might even look forward to it.

* * *

_Author's Note: Next week on **Poison and Wine:**  Someone may or may not be a coward. I'll leave it to you to guess who._

_Special thanks to both **Riptide Monzarc** and  **genginger,** whose guidance and commentary helped improve this chapter. And thanks to you, dear readers! _


	30. Caution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair seems to be at a bit of an impasse...

_You step a little closer each day  
_ _Still I can't see what's going on  
_ — _Cannonball,_ Damien Rice

Alistair and Elissa continued to meet at dawn every morning to spar once they set out on the trip to Denerim.

It was, admittedly, the best part of his day.

"Alright, so then we're agreed? No faking unconsciousness. And no eye-gouging." He frowned. "Or throwing dirt in my eyes. Or . . . poking my eyes—just in general lay off the eyes, basically, is the message I'm trying to convey."

The only assent she gave was to roll  _her_  eyes.

He coughed. "And no kicks to the groin, either."

_That_  got a reaction. Abundant remorse—completely faked, he was certain—clouded her features. "I  _am_  sorry about that. I trust I did no  _permanent_ damage?"

It was his turn to roll his eyes, though he could do nothing about the flush that crept up his cheeks. "I'm fine, thanks for your concern."

She giggled at that and then took a ready stance, and he shook his head and prepared for her attack, internally marveling to see how quick Elissa was to smile and laugh these days.

He thought he might take a little of the credit for that.

They'd been getting along really well since Redcliffe, with little of the awkwardness that had so plagued their interactions after the Circle Tower. Of course, that might have been because the only time he saw her alone was during their morning practices, when they were ostensibly trying to beat the shit out of each other. He tried not to think too hard about the implications of  _that._

She was a delightful partner to spar with, actually—quick, nimble, and clever, she kept him on his toes, and he found that he really did benefit from all the extra practice against a dexterous, dual-wielding style of fighter.

But even allowing for the substantial advantage of his superior size, reach, and stamina, she was still green, and made the mistakes of a novice from time to time. She hadn't yet managed to beat him in a fair fight.

He didn't count the dirty ones.

She dove in to attack on his right and he easily parried it. She twisted left only to thwack her dagger against his shield before hacking and slashing at him with a series of lightning quick blows. He was able to block or parry them all, but she left him a little winded after that burst.

She danced backward, and he saw that she was panting, too. Her conditioning had improved considerably, what with all the practice and the boost to stamina of the Taint, but she still had some ways to go to achieve the kind of constitution that came from a lifestyle of physical practice and exertion.

Her brow furrowed together in a scowl, though the effect was undermined by the smile twitching at her lips. "I don't ask for concessions from  _you_  during our matches, I'd like to point out. What does it say about  _your_  ability that you need to put such limitations on me?"

He resisted the urge to shake his head and laugh—he knew better than to give her that kind of opening—but he did smirk down at her as they continued to circle each other. "That's a nice effort, but your trash talking is a little on the wordy side. You need to make it more succinct." He cocked his head to the side. " _Pithy_ , even," he added, before slashing out for an attack of his own.

She dodged it and danced away, before narrowing her eyes at him and diving in for her counterattack.

He had to bite back his laughter at the ferocity of her blows.

Elissa didn't let Alistair's superior ability dampen her competitive drive at all. It was somewhat of a revelation, actually, when he recognized that the fire in her eyes wasn't mere enthusiasm for learning—she'd set herself the goal of beating him in a fight, and until she had accomplished that it was clear to him that she wouldn't be satisfied.

He wasn't certain how wise that really was, if he was being completely honest. He'd had years of formal training on her, and though she was talented and quick, he doubted she could overcome that deficit in experience any time soon, no matter how motivated she might be.

Still, he was impressed by her ambition, and the sincere desire to succeed that he saw in her efforts withered any ideas he might've had about letting her win. He'd entertained the thought, sure. He could just imagine the delight that would appear on her pretty face after such a success. But he could never fake losing for her sake. She'd see through it in an instant, anyway.

Besides, part of what made training with Elissa so enjoyable was the equitable rivalry that accompanied their sparring.

"I am  _not_ 'trash talking,'" she said, between fierce blows. "I am making a valid point—"

As if to underscore it, she dove in with a jabbing stab to his abdomen.

But, she underestimated his quickness, and he was able to knock the jab aside with his shield, throwing her off balance and allowing him to step in close to hold the edge of his sword up to her throat.

They stood there a moment, panting together in silence, and as he looked down at her he couldn't help thinking that a week at Redcliffe Castle had done Elissa wonders. She looked good. . .  _really_  good. Gone were the dark circles under her eyes and the gaunt hollowness of her cheeks. Her face had filled out after a week of unchecked eating. She looked youthful, and healthy, and just—

"Yield," she said, rolling her eyes and stepping back.

_Maker_ help him _,_  he could have kissed her a dozen times over by now, he was sure of it.

It had only taken him a couple of days of training with her to realize that at least half of the times when she stumbled into him were on purpose. Her favorite trick seemed to be to wait for him to help her to her feet after getting knocked to the ground. She'd grab on to his hand and jump up when he pulled, only to stumble into him, hands coming up to rest on his chest.

She would linger there—the first time it only took a half second for her to glance up at him and then turn away, blushing. But the next time the pause was longer, and the time after that, longer still.

Each time she leaned into him she'd look up at him from under those dark lashes of hers, and he was certain . . . _certain_  he was not wrong about the invitation written on her face. Her gaze would flit to his lips and then back up to his eyes, and then they would hang there in breathless silence for one heartbeat, and then two, before she'd blush and back away from him. She always backed off after a few seconds . . . and he'd be left with his heart hammering in his chest, feeling like an indecisive coward.

He didn't think it wrong to be cautious, he would tell himself afterward. He probably had already let himself care about her more than what was really prudent. Though the Grey Wardens had never explicitly forbidden romantic relationships, he couldn't help wondering if indulging in such a thing went counter to their general goals and purposes.

_And also, what if I'm wrong and it's all in my head?_

She dove in for a three-move attack. He parried the blows from her left-handed weapon and then brought up his shield to fend off the last, most dangerous blow, coming in from her right in an overhand arc.

Was this move intentional too? He didn't know, but he bashed her with his shield and watched as she stumbled backward to land with a thump on her rear, before looking up at him with a mixture of annoyance and amusement. "Dammit."

And, just like he did every day, he bent over and offered her his hand. She took it, and he pulled her to her feet. Was he now pulling too hard on purpose, too? Probably, but he scarcely had time to admit that truth to himself when she stumbled right into him like she always did, bringing her hands up to rest on his chest.

He looked down at her. Somehow in the scuffle his hands had wound up resting on her hips, his sword and shield having been dropped without him even realizing it.

He didn't think he imagined how she pressed into him, and he felt the way her fingers scratched at his armor as her hands tensed on his chest. She seemed to hold her breath and then let it out, letting her body melt into his and making his breath hitch in his throat.

He swallowed the lump in his throat when she finally looked up at him with those big green eyes of hers. Her cheeks were a little pink from the exertion, and he could  _feel_  that she was still a little winded as her chest pressed into him in shallow gulps of breath.

He was caught—mesmerized by her gaze, that flitted to his lips before settling back on his eyes. Her lips parted, and she tilted her head every-so-slightly upward.

There had been no clearer invitation than this one. They were alone. The practice yard at Redcliffe Castle had never felt quite as private as this little darkened meadow, still half in shadow from a sun that was only just now peeking over the horizon.

All he had to do was bend his head and he could capture her lips in a kiss— _Maker knew_  he wanted to, was dying to know what a real kiss from her would taste like . . .

But . . . he just could not do it—could not close the distance between his mouth and hers.

Because, all he had to do was close his eyes and he would see her wrapped in the embrace of the red-haired knight, and that image made his mind noisy with questions that were too clamorous to ignore.

_Who was he really? Were they involved? Did she love him? Does she still?_  Those were questions he needed answers to, and she'd been the exact opposite of forthcoming in all matters related to her life and history before the tragic night that Howe attacked her family.

He turned his head to the side and frowned at the grass, feeling his mouth go dry. "Uh . . ."

"I hope that I am interrupting something."

They both startled, and turned as one to the voice of the Antivan assassin who materialized from the shadows a few feet away from them. Elissa moved away from him, taking her hands off his chest.

She shook her head good-naturedly. "The phrase is actually ' _I hope that I am_ not _interrupting something,'_ " she said, in an earnest, helpful tone that set Alistair's teeth on edge. She glanced over at Alistair and then at the ground. "And no, you're not."

_Ouch._

Zevran looked right at him when he answered. "But, of course. That is what I meant."

_Maker,_  did he hate the assassin.

Elissa cocked her head to the side. "You're up early. Are all Crows so fond of mornings?"

Zevran offered her an oily smile. "You know how the saying goes? The bird that is early swallows the worm?"

Alistair was absolutely certain that no one in Antiva or Ferelden ever said the phrase that way, and he was damn sure the elf knew it, too.

Elissa laughed. She  _laughed_. "The bird! That's funny." She turned toward Alistair with eyebrows raised. "Because he's a  _Crow,"_ she explained, before shaking her head and chuckling again.

All he could do was stare in horror-tinged wonder. All of his jokes went over her head, and yet  _that_  got a laugh? It just wasn't  _fair_.

Zevran practically purred at Elissa's attention. "The truth of the matter is, I was awoken this morning with inspiration about our great poison antidote adventure, and I could not wait to come share my thoughts with you."

Elissa's eyes went wide and she took a step toward the assassin, reminding Alistair of nothing so much as a fish, reeled in on a hook. "Really? What is it?"

Alistair had to wonder what the elf could possibly have to say about the plan now, as the three rogues of the party had spent nearly every spare moment of the last few days with their heads bent together, quietly plotting strategies and tactics for some kind of heist on the capitol.

Not that he was bitter about it or anything.

"I believe you have a saying in Ferelden:  _The enemy of my enemy is my friend?_  Well, in this case, I believe the enemy of your enemy might lead you right to the antidote."

Elissa seemed enraptured with Zevran's theorizing. "Go on."

Zevran stroked his chin and narrowed his eyes, and appeared to do his very best impression of someone who actually knew what the hell he was talking about. "People, I believe, are creatures of habit." He fixed a piercing stare at Elissa. "They rarely do a thing only  _once_."

A silence hung between them after that statement. Alistair's face screwed up in disbelief.  _What the hell is he on about?_

But, after a few more seconds, Elissa's eyes went wide and she gasped audibly. "Zev, that's brilliant!"

Zev? _Brilliant?_ This was bad. All he could do was ask sharply, "What? What is?"

She turned to him, her eyes shining, before licking her lips and saying, "If Loghain used the same poison on  _someone else_ —"

"Then finding his other victims may lead us directly to the cure," Zevran finished for her smoothly. He grinned like a cat. "We would just need to intercept it."

Elissa clapped her hands together. "That is  _a wonderful_  idea. Once we get to Denerim we'll have to keep our ears and eyes open for any prominent citizens that have fallen ill. I'll make a list of symptoms to look for."

An impulse—he was self-aware enough to recognize it as a petty one, but not quite strong enough to deny the pull of it—came over Alistair to do anything he could to discredit the elf's idea. "Yeah so . . . whoever they are, they aren't friendly to Loghain, and we're just going to steal the cure from them? So we'll basically be killing some poor innocent person?"

It was a little creepy how still Zevran managed to go at the question, but Alistair blinked and the elf's posture was all relaxed and smarmy once again. "The enemy of your enemy  _may_  be your friend, but they may not be. The saying, well, it does not represent the complexities and subtleties of actual espionage, you understand."

Elissa nodded knowingly. "That's absolutely right. You can't just assume they're friendly to us because they're an obstacle to Loghain."

"Quite right," Zevran said, smiling at Elissa as if she were his most attentive pupil. "It may very well be in our best interest to let whatever victim Loghain has chosen to die expire." He winked at her. "Who knows? Perhaps Arl Howe could be the next person to wind up in Loghain's disfavor?"

Elissa's smile only widened at the obvious pandering. "Wouldn't that be wonderful?" she said with a laugh, before shaking her head and turning back to Alistair. Her smile faltered as she glanced at him, and she quickly looked at the ground. "We're finished, right? I should get started on that list . . ."

He felt the elf's eyes boring into him. "Uh, yeah, sure. That's it for the day."

There was a lump in his throat he couldn't swallow as he watched her walk away, back through the forest to camp. He'd almost forgotten about the elf standing next to him, until Zevran cleared his throat.

"It occurs to me, dear Warden, that in spite of the frequent number of jealous and possessive looks you shoot in her direction over the course of a day, no formal claim has been made. Our dear Elissa is . . .  _available_ , is she not?"

Alistair clenched his jaw. "First of all, she's a woman, not a  _territory_. Nobody needs to 'claim' her," he spat out, before letting his voice drop even lower. "Second of all: stay away from her."

Zevran seemed unimpressed. "Ah, it's such a small camp, you understand. Even if I did have the desire to comply with that wish, it would be difficult. But alas, I do not find myself so compelled."

He gave a frustrated sigh. "She's still in  _mourning_ , you know. You need to just . . . back off."

"Yes, the tragedy that you speak of does add a beautiful sadness to her expression, does it not?"

"No. It doesn't. I'd . . . much rather see her happy, thank you very much."

The elf's eyebrows rose, and he seemed to regard Alistair seriously for the space of a few seconds. "So it is noble intent and sensitivity that causes your hesitation, not cowardice? Are these the lies we're telling ourselves today?"

A rush of heat flew up his face. "I'm not . . . it's not . . . Just . . .  _shut up_." With that brilliant rejoinder, he stalked away, doing his best to ignore the laughter that burst out of the elf behind him.

* * *

It wasn't mere cowardice, he told himself later as they walked in the hot sun of the afternoon. It  _wasn't_.

The very idea of attempting to court Elissa brought with it serious concerns for his mental and emotional well-being. While he understood that probably all men felt the women they cared about were unique, Elissa really was like no person he'd ever met. Sometimes when he thought about what shape any kind of relationship with her might take, it left him feeling utterly hopeless.

She was unpredictable and prickly, for one . . . though he had to admit she had more good moods than bad, lately, and if he were being completely honest, her unpredictability was part of her charm . . .

Still. She didn't  _think_ like other people—she continually surprised him with the way she interpreted events and situations, and though her leaps in logic and deductions never failed to amaze him they were often just as likely to embarrass him or make him deeply uncomfortable.

_Like say, for example, deciding to recruit the assassin who just tried to kill us._ He sighed to himself. He  _did_  trust Elissa's judgment—or at least he wanted to—but watching the elf try to ooze his way into her good graces wasn't easy.

Not that he could really  _blame_ Zevran for his interest in in Elissa. She was a gorgeous woman, and it wasn't like that was a fact he found easy to ignore himself. He watched her as she strode alongside Leliana, chatting amiably and brushing aside a stray strand of hair from her face.

He let his gaze trail down her body, thinking about how the weight she'd managed to put on had gone to  _all_ the right places, when he heard a muffled laugh coming from beside him, and turned to find Wynne chuckling into her hand.

He cocked an eyebrow at the old Circle mage. "And just why are you smiling like that?" he asked in a playfully accusing tone. He rather liked Wynne. She had a good-natured, even-tempered personality and a surprisingly wry sense of humor. And besides, he was a bit sick of brooding. "You look suspiciously like the cat who swallowed the pigeon."

"Canary."

"What?"

She sighed, and her eyes threatened to roll upward, but she remained composed. "I look like the cat that swallowed the  _canary_."

"I once had a very large cat, but that's not my point," he offered up cheerfully. "My point is: why are you smirking?"

Wynne glanced at him and chuckled again, before nodding in the direction of the others in front of them. "You were watching her. With great interest, I might add. In fact, I believe you were . . .  _enraptured_."

_Oh no. Not Wynne, too_. . . Had the whole camp taken note of his interest in Elissa?

He frowned at his feet and tried to come up with . . . something. "She's our leader. I look to her . . . for guidance."

"Oh, I  _see_ ," Wynne said, in a completely patronizing tone that made a blush start to creep up the back of his neck. "So what guidance did you find in those swaying hips, hmm?"

At that, he felt the flush fully bloom over his face. "No, no, no," he stammered, shaking his head. "I wasn't looking at . . ." He gestured lamely in front of him "You know her . .  _. hindquarters_  . . ."

_Andraste's armpit._  He sounded like a bleeding idiot.

"Certainly."

Wynne kept her face composed and her gaze straight ahead of her, but Alistair knew she wasn't convinced.

"I gazed . . .  _glanced_ , in that direction, maybe," he went on, not really sure what good he thought it would do, but unable to stop the words from spilling out. "But I wasn't staring . . . or really  _seeing_ anything even."

"Of course."

He gave a defeated sigh. "I hate you. You're a bad person."

He heard a few muffled laughs from behind him coming from Solona and Zevran, probably, and mentally amended, _I hate all of you. You're all bad people ._  . .

_Especially_ the elf.

* * *

By the time the next day dawned Alistair found himself resolved not to waste any more opportunities afforded to him, lest he run out of them altogether.

This time, he wouldn't ruin the moment by freezing, or cracking wise or just . . . chickening out. This time, it would be different.

They sparred, unusually silent in the quiet of the morning. Nervousness must have robbed him of anything clever or funny to say, because the only thing coming out of his mouth were puffs of breath in the chilly morning air.

She seemed oddly reticent, too, but he resisted asking her what was wrong, knowing how much she despised that question.

After a couple of exchanges he brought up his shield to knock her aside and she landed on the ground in a heap, swearing under her breath.

He felt his heart leap into his throat that the moment was upon him. He took a deep breath, and started to extend his hand—

—but she had rolled over and jumped to her feet in one smooth motion, not even noticing the hand he had extended. He snatched it back and then bent to retrieve his sword, frowning in confusion.

She stood there, absentmindedly twisting her wooden practice blade into her thigh, before heaving a big sigh and looking up to him. "You know, it occurs to me that having  _you_  as an opponent puts me at a distinct disadvantage.

He gave an exasperated little smile. "Is it really that important to you to kick me in the crotch?"

Green eyes rolled heavenward and she crossed her arms to her chest. "No, I'm not talking about  _that_. I'm talking about your ability to sense wherever I am because of the taint."

He let his shield arm drop, since she didn't look ready to spar any time soon. "Oh. Well . . . you can sense me too, so I guess we're equal?"

"No,  _not_ equal. That's my point. It's a much bigger disadvantage for  _me_ than for you."

"What do you mean?"

"My style of fighting relies on the element of surprise—the unexpected move . . . being able to blend in the shadows . . . that kind of thing. But with you, I can't use half the tricks in my arsenal, because you can always sense where I am."

He could hear the frustration in her tone, but he didn't really know what to say. "Well . . . you can't always rely on dirty tricks, Elissa. We're getting you a good, solid foundation from which to build your skills . . ." He trailed off as she shook her head, feeling an odd and growing sort of panic about the conversation. "You . . . you're not  _quitting_ on me, are you?"

Her eyes went wide. " _Maker_ , no! Of course not. I want to continue my training." She bit her bottom lip and looked up at him. "I just think . . . I might benefit more from learning from someone with a different style of fighting—someone who can teach me things about how best to use my natural abilities."

He felt his mouth go dry. "Who?"

She smiled up at him brightly. "Zevran!" She seemed completely oblivious to his horror as she leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, "It took some time, but I managed to convince him to teach me secret Crow methods of assassination."

He hated every single word of that sentence, individually and as a collective. His jealousy finally boiled over, and he spat out in a voice sharp with anger, "What did you have to promise him for  _that_?"

She flinched as if she'd been struck. "I don't think I care for your tone," she said in a voice brittle with ice.

He felt instant remorse at her flash of anger. "I'm sorry . . . I didn't mean it like that . . ." He stammered as her frown only deepened at his floundering. "I just meant . . . I don't trust him."

"But I thought you trusted  _me_ ," she snapped back, before blinking at him rapidly for a few seconds. "Me . . . my judgment, I mean."

Maybe this wasn't completely unsalvageable? "I did. I mean, I do." He closed his eyes a second and tried to swallow all his petty jealousy, before opening them and doing his best to sound agreeable. "I'm sorry. You're right . . . improving your skills—that's what's important. I get it. Really."

It still seemed inadequate, but after a few moments of scowling at the earth at her feet she looked up at him and seemed . . . cautiously forgiving. "Thank you," she said, and then her expression turned deliberately brighter. "Think of it this way: now your mornings will be free to train Sten to use Templar abilities."

The thought of his favorite part of the day now being spent with a large and stern qunari did not improve his mood, but he resisted the impulse to spurt out a sarcastic reaction. All he needed was for her to take him seriously and get angry at him all over again. "Right," he said instead, tightly. "That's . . . definitely something."

She didn't seem to note the weakness of his enthusiasm. "Great! Then that's settled," she said with a smile before glancing around with a shrug. "So . . . I guess we're done for the day?"

"Sure," Alistair answered, feeling the lump return to his throat. As he watched her walk away from him, he imagined her pulling the whole stumbling move on Zevran and felt his guts twist yet again.

That settled it. It was time to stop mulling over things and just  _do_  something already. No more waiting for the next opportunity. The next move was definitely his, and he would make it, he swore, and it would be  _good_.

Just as soon as he figured out what that move might be.


	31. Sister

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair asks Elissa to accompany him to meet his sister.

_Sometimes I wish for falling, wish for the release  
_ _Wish for falling through the air to give me some relief  
_ _Because falling's not the problem, when I'm falling I'm at peace  
_ _It's only when I hit the ground it causes all the grief  
_ — _Falling,_ Florence + the Machine

The light of the lantern was weak and flickering, and Elissa had to squint to see the fabric in her hands. She slid another pin into place along the bottom edge of Leliana's Chantry robes.

She sat alone in the large tent. The old Circle mage was outside, still by the fire, probably trading stories or playing games with the others. She could hear the soft din of their voices occasionally punctuated with a shrill laugh or a chorus of chuckles.

Her companions sure liked to talk a lot.

Every night they sat around the campfire together. They traded stories—not just other people's stories, like Leliana, but true stories, of their childhoods and their pasts. They told each other jokes. They argued good-naturedly over stupid things, like which season was the best, or which tavern in Denerim had the best ale.

It was all surprisingly cozy and familiar.

Except, there would come a time when everyone had traded a story about the same topic—say, favorite Satinalia traditions, or wildest childhood pranks, or any other of a dozen seemingly innocuous subjects, and someone would turn to Elissa and ask, "What about you?"

And as all their eyes would turn toward her, she would sit there with a frozen smile in place, trying to think of some story that was safe—some escapade or funny adventure of hers that didn't involve someone she had loved who was dead now.

But there was no story she could tell that didn't include Fergus, or Mother and Father, or Nan . . . or any number of the people she'd spent her life with, so she'd usually choose that moment to complain of being tired and flee to her tent.

Which was just fine, really, she thought, as she threaded her needle and tied off the string at the end. She placed the robes in her lap and started sewing tiny, precise stitches.

She liked sewing. And potion making. And trap and poison making, too. These were all things she could do alone in her tent by the light of the little lantern, without worrying over unexpectedly difficult questions popping up to threaten her serenity.

Just then she heard a noise outside and felt the familiar buzzing in the back of her skull that meant Alistair was near. She frowned down at the cloth in her hands, annoyed at how her heartbeat always seemed to race lately whenever he came near.  _Speaking of threatening my serenity . ._.

Before she had time to wonder what he was doing on this side of camp, she heard him clear his throat and felt a rush of blood go to her head when she realized he was right outside her tent.

"Elissa?" he called softly. "Are you awake?"

"Yes?" she answered automatically, and then cringed to herself. Why hadn't she just pretended to be asleep?

"Oh, good. Look, I was wondering—uh, can I come in for a minute?"

She stared at the closed flaps of the tent.  _What does he want?_  Normally when confronted with a question like that her mind would conjure a dozen plausible scenarios and then quickly sift through her evidence and observations to come up with the correct conclusion. But tonight, for some strange reason, only one highly unlikely and  _ridiculous_  hypothesis sprung to mind.

"Elissa?"

She'd fallen silent too long. "Of course! Sorry, I just . . . had pins in my mouth." It was a terrible lie and she worried at first that he would see right through it, but as the tent flap opened and he entered, eyes darting around, she let out a breath and willed herself to relax.

The tent was large enough in the middle for someone of Elissa's height to stand comfortably, but Alistair had to stoop a little. The two bed rolls flanked a crate upon which sat the only light source—a small lantern.

His gaze traveled around the space, taking it all in for a few seconds before settling back to her. His eyebrows shot up when he saw the needle and thread in her hands. "You sew?"

It was impolite to keep working while he wanted to talk, but Elissa found the activity comforting. She gestured for him to sit by nodding her head at Wynne's bedroll. "Indeed. I'm quite good at it."

As he settled himself on the bedroll, he shot her a crooked grin "'Course you are, you're good at everything."

She smiled at her hands at the offhanded compliment. Alistair was always good for those, catching her off balance and leaving her speechless. She glanced up to see him sitting cross-legged on the bedroll opposite her, leaning back with his hands on the floor and his head cocked to the side, watching her work and looking for all the world like he was right at home.

 _Infuriating._ "I like to sew. What did you want?"

"Right." He leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. "Well, we're going to hit Denerim tomorrow and I was just wondering . . . I know, things were . . . kind of chaotic when we talked about it, so you might not even remember, what with everything that's happened. And, you know . . . if we don't have time, I totally get it—"

Suddenly, it came to her.  _Of course._ "Your sister! You want to go see her." She felt a rush of relief (and an annoying twinge of disappointment) at having figured out the purpose for his visit.

He rubbed the back of his neck, and she was surprised to see his brows knit together. "Do you think . . . you might come with me? I . . . don't really know what to expect. I think I'd like you to be there." He swallowed. "If you're willing."

Elissa looked down at the needle she'd been holding poised above the dress, finding her vision oddly blurred. "Of course I'll go with you," she said, frowning into the hem and pulling the needle through the fabric. After a moment she gave another hard blink and then looked up at Alistair with one eyebrow cocked. "Why do you think I'm hemming these robes?"

The look on his face made her eyes feel substantially drier.  _Good._

Alistair's expressions at her questions were strangely gratifying. He'd half smile and then he'd cock his head to the side and his eyebrows would knit together until finally he'd shake his head and ask for clarification, and she had no idea why but she loved eliciting the entire sequence.

This time proved no different. "Alright, I give up," he said with a snort of a laugh. "What does one have to do with the other?"

"As it so happens, my role in our plan once we get to the city will not be quite so . . . involved, as Leliana's and Zev's, so my schedule tomorrow is  _quite_  free."

"What do you mean?"

She smiled again, feeling on firmer ground. "The poison that was used on Eamon was  _very_  rare—and quite expensive. So it's doubtful that Loghain would've just thrown out the antidote. It's very likely that he still has it, so Leliana is going to try and get hired to a position in his employ—I suppose as a maid or a cook or something, I don't know—so that she can get inside the household."

"That sounds dangerous."

"Not terribly, at least for Leliana. I'd love to go with her and search the estate myself, but that would prove a little too risky. I might be recognized."

"But then—"

" _Zevran_  on the other hand, is going to look up his contacts in Denerim to see if he can find out where the poison and antidote might've been acquired—or even sold back."

"Makes sense, I guess, but—"

"And  _apparently_  I am too risky to take along on  _that_ mission, either," she said, scowling down at her stitches, remembering the conversation she'd had with Zevran about it.  _Mi querida_ ,  _in time I will show you all that the city's seedy underbelly has to offer, if you so wish, but for now? Leave this task to me._ "According to Zev, his contacts won't speak to him if I'm with him. I'm too . . .  _aristocratic_ , in my speech or bearing or . . . something." Actually, he said she  _reeked_  of nobility, but given the fact that she hadn't had a proper bath since Redcliffe, she had to assume that was a metaphor.

"I can't say I'm unhappy about you missing  _that_. . . but what does this have to do—"

"It's obvious Loghain knows we're alive," she said, holding the robe up just a little higher and then narrowing her eyes at him. "We have to  _assume_  that every guard in the city has our description—"

It was stupid how pleased she felt at seeing comprehension dawn on Alistair's face. "Wait! I got it! You're . . . hemming Leliana's robes so you can wear them?"

She smiled broadly. "Exactly! According to  _both_  Zevran and Leliana, people tend to see the robes or the armor instead of the person, so if I wear this and you wear that lovely new set of Templar armor of yours—"

"We'll look like a Templar and a Chantry sister," he finished for her, grinning. After a second he glanced down at the robes again and gave a little frown. "That . . . won't be weird at all," he muttered, almost too quietly for her to hear.

"Exactly!" she said, happy that he understood. "We should be able to stroll through the marketplace without attracting any undue attention, this way."

He had an odd look on his face, but then he smiled and it was gone. "That's brilliant. You've thought of everything, haven't you?"

She gave a little shrug. "That's what I'm here for."

They sat there for a few seconds just smiling at each other when Alistair seemed to remember where he was. He coughed into his hand. "Well, anyway, I'll let you get back to it," he said, getting to his feet and moving to leave. He paused at the tent opening and looked back. "Thanks for this . . . really. I mean it."

"Oh, it's nothing," she said, tucking her hair behind her ear, and turning back to her stitching. "I'm happy to do it."

"Great. Well, good night 'Liss."

"Good night, Ali."

She froze for a few heartbeats, before she recovered and continued stitching. She sensed Alistair pause, too, for just a moment, before she heard the rustle of tent flaps and he disappeared into the night.

 _Ali? Maker,_ where had  _that_  come from?

* * *

"There. I think." Alistair pointed. "That's my sister's house, on the other side of this market. I'm . . . sure of it." He rubbed the back of his neck. "She could be inside. Could we . . . go and see?"

He was quite the sight—the bright afternoon sun reflected off his armor and made his hair and skin seem to glow. And he was a bundle of nervous energy. Elissa had never seen him quite this out of sorts. It was a little . . . endearing. "That was the plan," she said, aiming for a wry tone.

His hand dropped down to clench at his sides. "Will she even know who I am? Does she even know I exist?" He didn't look at her—just rocked back and forth on his heels gazing into the distance. "My sister. That sounds very strange . . . 'sister' . . . 'Siiiiiissster'."

The laugh that burst out of her was totally unintentional, but seeing Alistair so frazzled was oddly delightful. She felt a tiny pang of guilt at the pathetic glance he shot her. "Alistair—"

"I know. I'm babbling." He crossed his arms to his chest and shook his head, frowning. "Maybe we should go. Yeah. Let's go. Let's just . . . go."

"Don't be  _ridiculous_." She held out her hand. "Come on, you big coward."

He stared at her hand for a moment, and Elissa realized just how odd the gesture was. What was she doing? Before she could pull it back he snatched it up and held it. "Alright," he said, swallowing his nervousness. "Let's go."

She turned and marched into the throng of people, dragging him behind her by the hand.

The gauntlets Alistair wore were mostly covered in metal, but the palms and underside of the fingers were covered only in thick cloth. As they moved slowly through the crowd she was unable to concentrate on much else but the sensation and warmth of his hand around hers.

 _This is beyond stupid._ Templar brothers and Chantry sisters didn't walk around the marketplace  _holding hands,_  for the love of Andraste.

Still, there were a  _lot_  of people milling about, and as they tried to cross through the wide open marketplace, they found themselves shoulder to shoulder with the teeming mass of humanity. If she let go of his hand, they might lose each other in the crowd.

She steadfastly ignored the dry chuckle she heard in her head at  _that_ thought. It sounded suspiciously like her mother.

They must have been near a particularly popular stall because the crowd that congregated around it made passing by difficult. They found themselves standing for long stretches, and only moving forward in inches as people made their purchases and left the area.

Alistair shifted his hand and for one awful second she thought he was going to let go, but then he simply adjusted so that he could thread his fingers with hers.

She stared at her feet, feeling her heart thudding painfully in her chest and finding herself completely unable to look at him. It was just his hand. Why did this all make her so nervous, anyway?

 _And you called_ him _a coward_? The thought amused her a little, and before she could catch herself she  _did_ glance up.

He was staring off in the direction of his sister's house, and the miserable anxiety on his face made her chest ache. She squeezed his hand and gently pulled him forward as the space in front of them opened and they started slowly inching forward again.

After a while she became aware that she'd been rubbing her thumb lightly along the pad of his palm and his fingers—wherever she could reach that weren't covered in metal. How long had she been doing that? She stopped.

He ran his fingers along the top of her hand, softly caressing it, and the simple action made it hard for her to breathe.  _How does he do this?_  She was possessed with two equal and opposite urges—to hold on tightly or to let go and run all the way back to camp.

She sighed as they moved forward, hand-in-hand.

It was more than a little disconcerting just how often she felt the need to touch Alistair when she was with him. She had tried to tell herself at first that it was merely evidence of their growing friendship—nothing more. After all, her family had always been physically demonstrative with their affections. She'd taken for granted the everyday comfort of a hand on her shoulder or the occasional hug and it was logical to conclude that she could miss all of that and seek it out largely unconsciously.

 _. . . except when it wasn't unconscious._ She frowned at her feet at her mother's voice in her head. She didn't know why ( _refused_   _to contemplate why,_ the voice corrected) but her inability to control herself around Alistair had become something of a problem.

Training with him hadn't helped. Each day proved to be a vicious cycle. It would begin with her steadfast commitment that  _this_  training session would be different—this time, she would remain entirely professional.

But  _Maker_  if Alistair didn't have the most disarming way about him! It was actually almost offensive, how casual he was when her heart was practically thudding in her ears whenever he came around. It wasn't fair. It was  _infuriating_ , and for a time during each match she channeled her frustrations into trying her hardest to kill him.

Which of course, she could never come close to doing, no matter how hard she seemed to fight. He never let her win, but he seemed to genuinely want her to succeed, and his advice was always helpful and thoughtful, and by the time they'd gotten to the point in the training session where he'd managed to knock her down, she just felt so full of . . .

Something she didn't want to think about. Something she only wanted to  _react_  to. So he'd help her to her feet and she'd look up at him each time, thinking:  _maybe today he'll sodding kiss me already._

But Alistair never seemed to lose his head around  _her_  the way she did around him.

She'd meant it when she told him that she could benefit more from Zevran's training than from his. She could.

And, she had meant it when she told him that it only made sense for them to take separate watches each night—that way, more shifts than not would have someone who could sense darkspawn on duty.

But it was also true that she had just given up—given up that she could stop doing stupid things around him, yes, but also . . . given up that he would ever  _start_.

They cleared the crowd and took a few steps to stand in front of the little house Alistair had pointed to. She was about to let go of his hand, her head abuzz yet again with her disturbing thoughts, but when she glanced up at him and saw how he had frozen, she didn't have the heart to let go. With a resigned sigh, she gave his hand another gentle squeeze and pulled him along. "Let's do this."

They heard a child's voice ring out from somewhere in the home, answering her knock on the door. "It's open!"

With one last encouraging squeeze of his hand, Elissa opened the door, and they stepped inside.

* * *

"So you met this sibling of yours?"

Elissa's head snapped up to see Morrigan looming over Alistair, where he sat by the evening campfire.

They'd been back at camp a couple of hours now, and Alistair had spent the time staring quietly into the fire. She had her traps spread out on a blanket in front of her, doing her work by the light of the campfire and the fading sun.

Alistair didn't look up at the witch, just kept his eyes trained on the fire. "Half-sister, but yes."

"And she turned out to be an insufferable hag?"

The visit with Alistair's sister had not gone well at  _all._ Goldanna had no interest in welcoming him into her family, and Elissa could hardly blame the poor woman, if what she said happened at the castle was true.

"You'd have liked her," she heard Alistair say in a flat tone. "You two have a lot in common."

"And you gave the woman money?" Elissa winced. That had been her idea, too. Why hadn't she questioned Teagan before they left Redcliffe? They could have at least been a little more prepared. . .

"Err . . . yes?"

"Why would you do such a thing? This woman is a parasite who will appreciate nothing you do for her, you know this!"

Alistair finally looked up at Morrigan, narrowing his eyes. "It's moments like this when I  _truly_  appreciate the difference between you and me."

"'Tis moments like this when I truly wonder at the difference between you and a  _toadstool_."

Elissa turned back to her parts with a frown, fighting an odd compulsion to run over there and defend Alistair's choices to the disapproving witch. It was a ludicrous impulse—Morrigan would be in no way impressed if she tried to fight Alistair's battles for him.

But she was still drowning in guilt for her part in the whole debacle. She had tried her best to explain to Alistair that Goldanna was merely looking out for her own self-interests. She was abysmally poor and had five children to worry about. He couldn't take it personally, she told him. She just didn't see him the way he saw her— as the family he never had.

Her words had done little to improve his mood, and she had felt like a miserable failure, both as his Grey Warden partner and as his friend. His sadness was  _intolerable_ , and she had wracked her brain to think of some way of curing it, but had been able to do little except hold his hand almost the whole way back to camp. It felt woefully inadequate.

Still, she didn't retreat to her tent after dinner, like she normally would. Instead, she set up her blanket just a little ways from the main campfire. She couldn't really explain why. It just felt important that she remain . . . accessible.

She felt the buzzing in the back of her skull intensify, and kept her eyes trained on her trap, trying to focus on whatever it was she'd been doing with the wires in her hands.

"You know, I've been thinking."

Alistair stood behind her, casting a long shadow over her work. She looked up over her shoulder at him. "You're blocking my light."

"Oh, sorry!" He moved around so he could sit next to her on the blanket. She waited a few moments, but he just sat there, looking over her work with a bemused grin. "So you were thinking," she said evenly. "I thought you looked a little sick."

Her jokes always came out sounding much meaner than she intended, but he usually just shrugged them off with a laugh, and this time was no exception."Oh, ho, ho, ho. Funny, I'm sure. Just listen for a minute."

Her lips twisted into a smile but she didn't say anything, and waited for him to go on.

He cleared his throat. "Back when we left Goldanna's, you told me I needed to look out for myself more than I do. I'm beginning to think you were right." He frowned into the blanket, nodding at himself

Elissa stared at him, a little confused. She didn't remember saying that, exactly, but he was practically  _smiling_ , so she felt a great reluctance to interrupt him.

"I'm beginning to think you were right. I need to stop letting everyone else make my decisions for me. I need to take a stand and think about  _myself_  for a change, or I'm never going to be happy."

Elissa's eyebrows shot upward. "I . . . I said all that?"

"Well, yeah." He blinked at her, his smile faltering. "I mean, I think that's what you said. Did I not understand you?"

His face was half cast in shadow and half bathed in warm, golden firelight. It was a relief to no longer see that dejected expression marring his handsome features. And what he said, maybe there was some sense in it for her too? Maybe they  _both_  needed to start . . . being more selfish?

"No, you understood just fine," she said in almost a whisper, leaning a little bit in his direction.

He leaned closer too, and she swore her heart really did skip a beat. "Then from this point on, I'll be looking out for  _myself_  more. I'm not just going to . . . roll with the tides. I'm going to focus on what  _I_ want, for a change."

"And what is it that you want?" Her voice came out in a low whisper.

He coughed and she thought there might be a hint of a blush creeping up his face.  _Good._ "That's . . . a good question."

She stared at him, waiting for more, but he just stared back at her, a knowing little smile on his face. She bit back a sigh.  _Maker's breath._ Sometimes she just wanted to wrap her hands around his neck and  _squeeze._

His eyes went wide. " _What_?"

Had she said that last thought aloud? "Nothing!" she gasped, feeling her face grow alarmingly warm. "Just, forget it. Nothing." She started gathering up her materials, haphazardly; her intense desire to flee overtaking any sense or reason, until a hand on her wrist made her freeze.

"Elissa." He started pulling, gently, on her arm. Eventually she would either have to face him or let him drag her bodily into across the blanket. She looked up. He reached out with his other hand and cupped her face, gently grazing his thumb across her cheek. "I'm sorry . . . I know . . . I. . ." He tilted his head to the side, still grinning up at her all too knowingly. "I wanted to half a dozen times today, but we were in the middle of the market." His voice was low and warm, and as he spoke he started gently pulling him toward her, reeling her in.

She let him lead her to him, all the while her eyes going wide and her breath stopped in her throat. Was he really . . . was he really  _talking_  about kissing her, instead of actually kissing her? She couldn't get any words of her own out as she came to rest on her knees in front of where he sat. Her heartbeat was thundering in her ears and she couldn't  _think._

 

He rested his hands at her hips and hers found their way to his shoulders, and she rose up on her knees until she found herself in the unfamiliar position of looking  _down_  at him. He looked up at her with a hint of a playful smile on his lips, and she felt her heart lurch in anticipation as he moved his hand to the back of her neck. "But now, we're in camp. So I suppose now's as good a time as any. . ."

She started lowering her face to meet his and then paused. Her heart was in her throat and his nearness was making her brain fog up alarmingly, but still, she was unwilling to concede the last few inches in this battle. She'd made a vow after all. So instead she raked her teeth across her bottom lip as she stared at his mouth for a few deliberate heartbeats, before slowly raising her gaze to meet his.

She watched his tongue dart out to moisten his lips, before he pulled her head the rest of the way down to finally,  _finally_ capture her mouth in a kiss.

She thought she was going to melt or explode from the inside out when his lips made contact with hers, and she wasted no time in attempting to learn the shape of his mouth with her own. He followed her lead  _perfectly_ , first sucking on one lip and then the other, before opening his mouth to let her tongue glide across his.

She went almost limp, letting her body drape against him, deepening the kiss as his arms moved to wrap around her waist, feeling something warm and urgent coil deep within her. She'd never felt quite this breathless and undone. As she hungrily claimed his mouth, she couldn't help thinking bizarrely that he tasted just like . . .  _home._

She could have kissed him like this  _forever_ , but she was out of breath. She broke the kiss and pulled back to look down at him in wonder.

He was  _gorgeous_ —his hair was tousled from where she'd unconsciously run her fingers through it, and as he stared up at her with his blown-out pupils, his lips—still wet from her attention—twisted into a knowing little smile she didn't find infuriating at  _all_.

In that moment she knew with a  _certainty_  that she wanted him—wanted him with an urgency that was as unfamiliar to her as want of any kind ever used to be. "Let's go back to your tent," she whispered huskily, a thrill coursing through her at her own audacity.

"My tent," he said, eyebrows shooting upward and eyes going suddenly wide. He coughed into his hand and turned his head away from her, looking delectably nervous while also providing an enticing expanse of jaw she was at just the right angle to pepper with trailing kisses. His breath hitched when her lips met his skin and she smiled against it. "Ah," was all he managed to choke out.

"Well," she whispered between kisses, reveling at the rapid beat of his pulse under her lips on his neck. His reaction to her was almost as intoxicating as his touch. "Wynne's asleep already in ours . . ."

She  _felt_  the hard swallow he took after that, and in that moment finally noticed how stiff his whole body had gone and that his arms were now hanging at his sides instead of wrapped around her. She pulled back with a sudden frown, feeling a tendril of dread thread its way through her chest as she tried to read his face in the dark.

"Um," he said, after an age. "I'm not sure . . . that's the best idea."

A horrid thought struck her. Her hand flew to her mouth. "Oh Maker . . . you haven't . . . you haven't taken  _vows_ have you?"

"What? Uh, no . . . no I haven't taken any  _vows_. . . " His spine still seemed ramrod straight.

Her heart lurched painfully in her chest. "If you're worried . . . I don't mind that you haven't . . . I mean, I haven't  _either,_ " she lowered her voice, fearful that her sudden panic was making her loud.

"Really? And you want to . . . with me?" Something in his tone made her stomach twist in dread. She backed away from him and sat back on her heels.

"Well, sure, why not?" She tried for the casual tone Zevran employed whenever he was propositioning someone in camp. Everyone knew he wasn't serious. Or maybe, they knew he was serious, but nobody cared? She was never sure, but some instinct told her it would serve her well now. "I'm not a noblewoman looking for a good marriage for my family. I'm a Warden." She gave a shrug. "There's no use saving it anymore."

He rubbed the back of his neck and stayed silent for a few horrible seconds. She wished she could see his face better in the dark. "Look, I just . . . don't you think we should at least . . . you know . . .  _talk_  a little first?"

"Talk? Talk about  _what_?"

He went very still, and she felt that dread twist in her stomach again. He took a deep breath. "Back at the Circle. Your dream—" He leaned forward and his eyebrows knit together. "That man I saw you with . . ."

She turned her head winced her eyes shut, trying to will away the hot tears that prickled her eyes.

"Who was he? What was he to you? Did you—"

" _Why_?" She hated the way her voice screeched, but she was desperate to get him to stop talking. "Why would you ask me that  _now_?"

The ragged breath she let out after that was audible, and Alistair froze for a few seconds, before tentatively reaching out a hand to her.

She scrambled backwards, away from his touch, and he let his hand fall to the side. She wrapped her knees to her chest and stared at the blanket, unable to meet his gaze, as unwanted memories came back in a rush to flood her senses.

 _Rory's face—clouded with sadness. Her voice, sounding impossibly cold and distant, belying the way her heart thrummed in her chest. "I can_ already _marry anyone I choose, Ser Gilmore."_

She shook her head.  _No._  She kept those thoughts buried for a reason.

Alistair cleared his throat. "Look, I'm sorry . . . I know, it might be difficult for you to talk about, but I have to know."

Her head snapped up. "You do  _not_  need to know," she hissed, her anger a vibration on her skin. She latched on to that fury—the one emotion coursing through her that felt  _survivable_. "That is  _completely_  irrelevant to . . . It has  _no_ bearing on . . . on any of this." She leaned forward and glared at him. "It's none of your damn business."

His jaw fell open. "I . . . you can't . . . you can't really believe that?"

"Of course I can!" She knew she was overreacting—knew she sounded like an unbalanced shrew, but she didn't care. It was better than the alternative. It was better than curling into a ball and weeping in front of him, or worse still, spilling out a confession . . .

He gaped at her for a few more seconds, before snapping his jaw closed and looking off to the side. "Look, if you can't even understand why I would ask the question then maybe . . . maybe none of this is a good idea."

"Good idea?" Her eyebrows shot upward, and a hysterical bubble of laughter erupted out of her. "Good idea?  _Of course none of this is a good idea_!" It really was funny, that this thought only  _now_  had occurred to him. All this time, she had thought he was being  _logical._ But  _no_. He'd had this  _question . . ._ That anger rose up again and she latched on to it. "This was  _always_ a terrible idea. Only a  _fool_  could think otherwise."

He flinched at the sharpness of her tone. "I . . . I guess that's true."

She turned her head to the side, unable to meet his gaze. The defeat she heard in his tone was breaking her heart in half, but there was nothing for it! She felt trapped—cornered by all of these stupid, useless and inconvenient  _feelings._

She waited for one heartbeat, and then two, before risking a glance at his face.

His eyebrows were drawn together and the mouth she had found so delightfully kissable moments ago had turned back down into a deep frown again. "Well," he said after an unbearably long stretch of silence. "I'll . . . leave you alone. If . . . if that's what you want," he said quietly, voice trailing off.

It felt like she was moving underwater and she wasn't quite sure how she managed to find her feet and stand up, but she did, careful not to look at him. She should say something, a part of her mind insisted, but a numbness had set in over the rest of her and she found herself only capable of stumbling toward her tent, eyes stinging and throat impossibly raw, hoping she could make it inside before the whole company saw her burst into angry, frustrated tears.

* * *

She didn't know how long she spent lying there in the dark, replaying the events of her conversation with Alistair in her mind over and over. Her anger had bled itself out, leaving behind only humiliation and shame.

She had acted atrociously.

Of course Alistair was curious about . . .  _him._  That . . . that only meant he wondered where he stood with her. How could she be so stupid?

Of course, she was absolutely correct: It  _didn't_  matter. It really  _didn't_ affect anything between her and Alistair, but the only way to convince him of that would be to actually answer his question . . . and the truth was that she had no idea how to.

Did she love Rory? Just thinking of the question made her stomach lurch and put a hollow ache in her chest.

She shook her head. This was all pointless. She'd . . . she'd bungled it all so badly anyway that it didn't matter anymore.

She closed her eyes and tried to sleep, but then the image of Alistair's absolutely gutted expression as he looked at the angry face of his sister sprung to mind, and before she knew it she was sobbing into her pillow again.

After a time she felt a warm hand on her back and whipped around, only to see Wynne crouched by her bedroll. "What's wrong, dear?"

Her voice was warm with sympathy, but it was the middle of the night and Elissa felt guilty enough for one day. "I'm sorry for waking you," she said, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

"You didn't. At my age, I don't get through a whole night without waking up a few times." She tilted her head to the side. "Now, what's gotten you so upset?"

She sat up and tried to read Wynne's face, but it was far too dark. Still, she felt too weak to resist telling Wynne the truth.

She took a deep breath. "I just . . . I just really,  _really_  . . . miss my mother tonight."

Her throat closed up at the admission. That was the harshest of all the ugly truths she'd been forced to face tonight. All of this dreadful stuff with Alistair . . . she wasn't supposed to have to go through this without her mother.

 _Mother would have known what to do._ Elissa bent her head and choked out a sob, unable to hold back the wave of grief that washed over her at the unfairness of it all.

Wynne made a clucking noise with her tongue, and then reached out and gathered Elissa up in a hug. She didn't resist. In the old woman's embrace she felt something inside her chest finally  _break_  and she cried, yet again, for all that she had lost, amazed that she could find yet more bitter ways to grieve after having already shed so many tears.


	32. Mistakes, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elissa's day in the city doesn't go exactly as she had planned.

_It's a shame you don't know what you're running from_

_Would your bones have to break and your lights turn off_

_Would it take the end of time to hear your hearts false start?_

_—Your Biggest Mistake,_ Ellie Goulding  
  


Elissa's feet pounded on the hard-packed dirt. She risked a quick glance over her shoulder. _Three bandits left_. Her fire and shock bombs must've taken out the others—or at least convinced them to stop chasing her.

Rounding a corner she scanned the area and darted down another narrow alley that veered right. As she flew past a stack of crates she reached out and knocked them over—they landed with a crash behind her.

The muttered curses she heard let her know at least one bandit was tripped up by them, but she still heard the smack of too many pursuers' feet on the ground and knew there were too many for her to deal with by herself.

She rounded another corner and skidded to her left. The alleyway was crammed with refuse and she had to zigzag her way down it, leaping over piles of trash along the way. The evening sun hung low in the sky and the passage was drowned in shadow—it wasn’t until she practically slammed into a high wooden fence that she realized it was a dead end.

She was trapped. "No," she whimpered, before whirling around and drawing her blades. 

The three bandits chasing her slowed their pursuit and shot each other knowing smiles as they took in her predicament.

The drumbeat of her heart was deafening as she stood there, desperately scanning the area for some method of escape—something, _anything_ she could do to even her odds against three armed and dangerous thugs. There was a pile of wooden pallets stacked up that she could have used to scale the wall, she noticed, but it was too late to make a dash for it. The bandits were closing in and she'd never make it in time.

_So this is how it ends_ , she thought, even as she dropped into a battle-ready stance. _Dammit, Zevran. I’m so sorry._

The bandit on the left—the human with a scraggly beard and an ugly scar across his nose—sneered at her as he crept close. "That was a right merry chase you led us on, sweetheart. But it's over, and now we're going to have a little fun."

She scowled and brought her blades up. "You're going to wish you hadn't chased me," she said, keeping a scream trapped behind clenched teeth.

All three men laughed—hard and mirthless. "Oh is that so?" the blonde, baby-faced man in the middle said. "One little girl against the three of us and we're supposed to be scared?"

Her fear robbed her of any pithy response, even if she were capable of one. Visions of her immediate future danced before her eyes, twisting her gut.

She hoped she wasn’t about to throw up again. She could still smell the putrid stench of vomit on her boots.

_At least I’m sober now . . ._

_Maker,_ how had this day turned out so wrong? She’d just wanted some time away to _think_ , to figure things out and now? Now none of that even mattered.

She was done for.

* * *

 

Elissa stared at the wall of wanted posters, chewing on her bottom lip. The sun had only just risen, and the long shadows made discerning the features of the various Fereldan criminals difficult, but she recognized herself and Alistair almost immediately. Those fliers quickly found their way to her satchel. She squinted as she scanned the rest. Yesterday she'd only had a moment to glance at this wall before she'd dragged Alistair away from it, worried that in spite of their dress someone might recognize them. But even in that short amount of time she'd been able to spot one story that didn't quite add up.

_There_. She had to get up on her tip toes to reach it. It was a faded flier with the picture of a handsome elf staring back at her from it.

"Darrien Tabris," she read aloud. "Brown hair and eyes. Face tattoo. Wanted for the kidnapping and rape of three elven women, and the murder of Vaughn Kendells, son of the former Arl of Denerim, along with scores of guards and men-at-arms." She turned to her companion with wide eyes. " _That_ is patently ridiculous." 

Zevran, for his part, look unimpressed. "Which part? The part where the elven women are anonymous victims but the human nobleman is named? Or the part where this _criminal_ is obviously pinned for crimes he didn't commit?"

She frowned down at the flier in her hand, annoyed. She felt an uncharacteristic compunction to impress Zevran Arainai, and she kept coming up uncharacteristically short. "That last part, of course.” She didn't mention that she would have never noticed the first part without him pointing it out—those types of confessions didn't seem to endear her to her elven mentor. 

"I'm afraid that is all too common an occurrence, _mi bella_ ," he said simply. "And I'm afraid it's also beneath our notice."

"But you said we ought to look for the enemy of our enemy . . . and it can't just be _coincidence_ that the Arl of Denerim is involved. Every rotten thing that's happened in the last month can all be traced back to Loghain or Howe."

Zevran gave a little _tsk_. "It is true that we seek an enemy of Loghain's—but not just _any_ enemy. We're looking for the antidote, don't forget. Loghain’s target will be someone of some standing—someone that he would rather get out of the way, than kill.” He made a dismissive gesture at the flier in her hands. “We are not looking for friends."

"Well, why not? Why can't we look for allies?" She pointed at the flier. "See here? Look how many men he's supposedly killed on that murderous rampage of his. You can't tell me that's not impressive!”

"I am impressed,” he said, eyebrows rising. “Impressed that this man—who is a complete stranger to you and who you have absolutely no reason to trust—is exceedingly dangerous, and completely ancillary to our purposes." He shook his head and looked off into the distance. "I must break you of this habit. You trust far too easily."

"Says the man who is alive only because of my so-called proclivity to trust."

He looked at her out of the corner of his eyes, but his lips twitched with the threat of a smile. "Trusting me is a perfect example of the type of behavior I'm trying to train out of you. You are uncommonly lucky that it was _me_ the Crows sent for you."

He had a point. “You’re quite skilled in battle and you’re an incredible teacher.” She felt a surge of warmth toward the handsome elf. “I _am_ lucky to have found you, Zevran.”

He went still for a moment, a spasm of some emotion flickering across his face, before being replaced by a patient, but patronizing, expression. “I do not think we should rely overmuch on luck, _mi bella_ ,” he said, nodding at the flier in her hands. “Not every handsome elf is as trustworthy as I.”

“I suppose you’re right.” She sighed, and gave the flier one last look before folding it and putting it in her satchel.

She looked up to see Zevran regarding her thoughtfully. He nodded at the wall. "Is this why we had to rise before the sun to come into the city?"

Elissa tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear. " _Obviously_. I didn't want anyone to see us removing them," she said, looking over at the marketplace center. _It’s not_ that _early,_ she thought, seeing a few merchant stalls had begun to set up for the day.

Zevran remained silent for a long moment. “I see,” he said at last, in an even tone. “Well, the mission, as they say, has been accomplished. Shall we return to our peaceful little camp?”

Her head snapped up. “No!” His eyebrows rose ever-so-slightly in response, and she felt her cheeks burn as she stammered to cover her discomfort. “We can’t . . . I mean . . . I want you to introduce me to some of your contacts in the city.” _That could work._

Zevran immediately proved her wrong. “That is neither prudent nor necessary. None of my contacts know anything—as I have told you.”

She heaved a sigh of frustration. “So we’re just going to do _nothing_. Is that it?” She was overreacting, she knew, but she had to think of something, _anything_ to keep from having to go back to that camp. 

“Not exactly nothing, no.” At her expectant look, Zevran went on. “I’ve placed word with the right people that a wealthy foreign  . . . _businessman_ is in need of the poison antidote and is willing to pay ungodly sums of money for it. If Loghain is looking to sell, I should hear back.” He fixed his amber gaze on her and lowered his chin. “And a certain ‘wanted’ noble born Warden should be nowhere near this deal if it is to happen.”

“I suppose that does make sense. I just . . .” _I don’t know what to say to him,_ she had started to confess, but thought better of it. Zevran was probably the last person she should confide in about issues of the heart, anyway. “I just grow tired of practicing in the training meadow every day,” she finished, and then frowned at her feet. The excuse sounded weak even to her own ears.

“Hmmm.” Again, he scrutinized her silently for an uncomfortably long span before flicking his gaze to the marketplace in front of them. “The marketplace is ideally suited for one particular exercise.” His gaze returned to hers, and his lips curled into the hint of a smile. “But I’m not certain you will approve.”

The thrill of anticipation that went through her at _that_ was unexpected, but she didn’t pause to examine it. “What’s that?”

“I shall teach you how to pickpocket.” 

“ _Pickpocket_? _!_ ” she said, and seeing the way Zevran’s smile faltered she realized she’d said it far too loudly. Glancing around she was relieved to discover no one too close. She leaned in. “Pickpocket?” she repeated in a quieter voice. “You mean . . . _stealing_? Why on earth do you know how to do _that?_ Do the Crows not pay you enough?”

Zevran’s smile returned at her breathless questioning. “We are well compensated for our deadly deeds, do not worry. But people hold more than coin in their pockets—surely you know this. Some people hold their most valuable possession on their person at all times.” He waved a hand. “A key. A map. An illicit letter. This kind of thing. You understand?”

Of course that made perfect sense. “It does seem like it would be a valuable skill. But I don’t relish the idea of becoming a common criminal.” She glanced over at him with a little wince. “No offense.”

Zevran’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, but then he gave a nod at the crowd of people that were starting to gather in the marketplace center. “You would hardly be _common_ , _mi querida_. With your clever observational skills I believe you could master the game in no time at all.”

Her eyes widened at the compliment, and she turned to look out at the crowd that was gathering. “That’s _true_ ,” she admitted as she scanned passersby. 

Still, she hesitated. The very idea of committing such a crime went against everything she’d been raised to believe in. Of course, she’d never expected to slaughter blood mages and highwaymen, either. Her parents could have never predicted the lifestyle she was now living. “Alright,” she said, coming to a decision after a few more heartbeats of deliberation. “But we should only target the wealthy—those who won’t be unnecessarily burdened by our theft.”

Zevran smiled again, looking pleased with himself. “There is no point in picking empty pockets, my dear Warden.” 

* * *

When Elissa had first asked Zevran to train her in the ways of the Crows, she’d been a little worried that the flirtatious elf might spend more time trying to woo her than to teach her. It only took one session with the assassin to realize she needn’t have worried. When Zevran trained, he became a completely different person—cold and serious to the core. She’d been impressed by both his unrelenting professionalism and his work ethic.

Even today, as they spent time practicing various ‘bump and grab’ techniques—as Zevran had referred to them—he was mindful to keep his touch strictly professional and didn’t take any liberties even though he’d had plenty of opportunity to let his hands wander.

They practiced in a shadowy corner until Elissa could remove a coin purse from Zevran’s belt with one swift movement, and then he deemed her fit for a real attempt. Zevran had been right—she _was_ good at this, and her success made her eager to try the techniques she’d learned. Swallowing the lump in her throat she scanned the marketplace for suitable targets.

She should be able to ascertain quite easily where each person held their coin purse after observing them for any length of time. All she had to do was spot a bulge under a waist coat, or see where a person’s hand strayed unconsciously when they spotted an unsavory sort of person come too close . . .  

“Elissa?”

She turned to see Zevran watching her, lips crooked into an amused smile. The image of Alistair impersonating her so-called ‘look’ sprang to mind and she flushed, embarrassed, for some reason, by Zevran’s notice. “Sorry. I was just puzzling out where people held their coin.”

He nodded, and then turned away, his lips pursing almost as if he were fighting a smile. “It is the marketplace. You could just wait for them to purchase something.”

_Sodding hell_. When had she gotten this stupid? “Right. That’s . . . that’s right. Sorry. I . . . didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.” 

“I see,” Zevran said, and then touched her elbow and pointed to a group of noblewomen that passed by. “Women are more suspicious than men, so they won’t make the best target for you.” He gestured at a finely dressed nobleman that stood at a fruit stand some twenty feet away. “Most men, on the other hand, will be far too distracted by your beauty to suspect you.”

That did make sense, and so Elissa began her pickpocketing career in earnest, stumbling into the nobleman and offering heartfelt apologies while snaking a hand to his belt and removing the coin purse that hung there. It was almost _too_ easy, and before long she’d acquired a handful of purses and pocketbooks, with several sovereigns’ worth of coins inside. 

“We must make our exit now,” Zevran said in a hushed tone, ushering her toward a side street, after they made a single circuit around the marketplace center.

His tone made her heartbeat speed up. “What’s the matter?”  
  
He nodded with his head to a few of the guardsmen near the fruit stand. They were talking with the finely dressed nobleman that had served as Elissa’s first target, and as she looked over the man happened to look up. She heard him give a shout and raised a finger to point in her direction.

“Quickly, _bella!_ ” Zevran hissed, dragging her by the hand. “I do not think it is in our best interest to become more acquainted with the city guard. Let’s go!”

With that, he darted down a side alley and Elissa followed, hearing some distant shouting coming from behind her. Zevran seemed to know the city’s back alleys well and as they raced down narrow passages Elissa wondered yet again how it was she had managed to best him that day of the ambush.  

He didn’t stop until they’d made it almost to the docks. Finally he pulled to a halt, and Elissa lumbered to a stop next to him, panting loudly. _Maker,_ the elf could run. 

“That should be sufficient to lose them,” he said, his breath coming far too evenly for Elissa’s pride. He turned to her with a patient smile. “I think that ends our training for today. We should make our way back to camp, no?” 

“Camp?” Elissa’s voice rose an octave. The day was still young—the sun had not yet made it to its apex in the sky. “Do we _have_ to?”

Zevran cocked one golden eyebrow, but said nothing for a long moment, staring at her thoughtfully. Finally, he sighed and looked away. “You have to face him eventually, Elissa.”

She could feel the blood rushing to her face. “You heard us. Alistair and I. Last night.”

His gaze flicked to hers before he turned away again. “The middle of camp is not the best place for a private conversation,” he said, and she didn’t think she imagined the hint of reproach in his tone.

She closed her eyes and bent her head, wishing the ground could just open up at her feet and swallow her whole. It was bad enough having to endure Alistair’s rejection herself; Zevran knowing about it made it so much worse. “I know,” she said, opening her eyes to glare at her feet. “It was stupid.” _Alistair makes me stupid,_ she thought, but refrained from voicing.

“Indeed.”

She rubbed her forehead with her hand. “I just . . . I just don’t want to go back there until I know what I’m going to say.” Zevran had heard everything anyway, so she might as well be honest. “I just . . . I just need time to _think_.”

It was the truth, or close enough to it. What she _needed_ more than anything was a day away from Alistair’s infuriatingly distracting _presence_ —a day without the whisper of his blood always teasing at the back of her skull, worming thoughts of him into her mind at unexpected intervals.

Zevran’s expression was softer than she might’ve expected. “I had thought you left things rather resolved last night,” he said gently. “What is there to think about?”

It felt like a heavy stone had landed in her gut. Her mouth worked for a few seconds before she got any words out. “Well that’s what I need to figure out,” she finally admitted, feeling her mouth go dry. “Whether . . . whether I should do anything.” 

_Whether I want to answer his question about Rory_ , she thought, feeling something in her chest tighten at the thought. _Whether I even can._

“So,” Zevran said, interrupting her ruminations. He gestured at their surroundings. “You’ve devised a day of quiet contemplation, I see.”

For once she recognized the sarcasm. “I do my best thinking when I’m absorbed in some task,” she said, shrugging a shoulder. It was a trick her father had taught her—when struggling for inspiration, one should think deeply on a subject, and then forget it. Inevitably, the answer would come. She gave Zevran a pleading look. “Isn’t there anything else we can do while we’re here? _Please_?”

He seemed to search her face for a few seconds, and then opened his mouth as if to say something, before snapping it closed and looking away. 

That was enough to pique her curiosity. “What is it? There’s something, obviously! Just tell me.”

He turned back to her and gave a deep sigh. “Well, I do have _one_ contact in the city who may not be offended at the very sight of you. However, I am reluctant to take you to her. I fear you would not approve of the establishment she haunts.” 

Elissa’s eyes went wide at the prospect of finally meeting one of Zevran’s criminal contacts. She wasn’t sure why she found the idea so compelling, but some part of her thrilled at the idea of being introduced to a world she knew so little about. “Take me to her. I don’t care where it is.” At Zevran’s doubtful look she held up her hands. “I won’t be offended. I promise.”

A slow grin spread over Zevran’s face. “As you wish,” he chuckled. “Just remember that I warned you.”

* * *

Isabela’s golden jewelry clinked with every movement the pirate made. She leaned forward, causing her copious bosom to press up against the table. “Do you want to deal or shall I?” she asked, gesturing with a deck of cards in her hand.

Elissa plucked the cards from the pirate’s long, brown fingers. “I will,” she said crisply, and immediately set about shuffling them with quick, professional movements.

Inwardly, Elissa was practically soaring. She _loved_ playing cards and she was _certain_ she could beat the trousers off the pirate, were the woman wearing any. Card games were easy and she excelled at them—all they required was knowing the odds and reading people.

But what really made her vibrate with anticipation was the _prize_ that came with winning. She wasn’t sure she’d ever wanted anything in her life quite as much as she wanted to be able to do what Isabela did to those three men who’d accosted her. It was the most beautiful and clever style of fighting Elissa had ever seen, and once she witnessed it she became determined to learn it. A card game with a pirate (no matter how disreputable the venue) was an easy price to pay for the chance to master so great a skill.

Isabela produced a bottle and glasses from somewhere, and poured all three of them shots. She slid one in front of her. Elissa eyed the glass warily, before lifting her gaze to meet Isabela’s.

The pirate smirked at her. “Go on, have a drink on me.” She cocked her head to the side. “Unless this swill isn’t _good_ _enough_ for you . . .”

Elissa felt Zevran stir beside her, but picked up the glass before he could butt in. “Don’t be absurd,” she said, tipping the glass to her lips.

It burned. _Maker,_ did it burn—far worse than even the most potent health potion. She wasn’t prepared for the shock of it and when the liquid hit the back of her throat she just barely managed to swallow it before erupting into hacking coughs.

She could barely hear Isabela’s rich laugh ring out over the sounds of her distress. “That’ll put hair on your chest,” she said with a snicker.

Finally Elissa managed to stifle her coughing and picked up her cards. “You go first,” she said, her voice straining above a whisper.

Isabela, still grinning, played a card, and then picked up the bottle of rum again. She poured a shot for herself and then tipped it toward Elissa’s glass. Zevran’s hand snaked out to grab Isabela’s wrist. “I do not think that’s a good idea,” he said, shooting Elissa a significant look.

His expression made her hesitate, but then she glanced up just in time to see the pirate roll her eyes. “No, it’s _fine_ ,” she said, relieved that she managed it in a clear voice. She nodded at Isabela. “Please, let’s have another drink.”

Isabela’s eyebrows shot upward, making her blue bandana jump. She glanced at Zevran for confirmation, and the elf merely shrugged his shoulders with a sigh.

Elissa clinked her glass with Isabela’s, before downing the drink. She was prepared for the sting this time, and though it still made her eyes water, it didn’t elicit an embarrassing coughing fit. That seemed promising, at least.

She was betting that her Tainted body’s increased stamina and metabolism would pay off, and that the alcohol would have little effect. It was a calculated risk, but as she felt the warmth of the second drink seep into her veins she felt oddly optimistic.

_I’ll just play a few rounds and show her I can hold my liquor_ , Elissa thought, smiling as Isabela poured her another drink. She could sense Zevran had gone stiff on the bench next to her, his disapproval apparent in his entire posture, but she ignored him—he’d see soon enough that she knew what she was doing.

* * *

“’Snot fair,” Elissa erupted, jerking her arm out of Zevran’s grasp as they exited The Pearl. “She was cheating! I know she was [ _hic_ ].” She took a few wobbly steps, and her eyes watered from the bright afternoon sun. “I just couldn’t prove it.”

“And I wonder why that might be,” Zevran muttered from behind her.

She turned to face him, feeling her stomach churn in the most unsettling way. “The truth is,” she confessed in a loud whisper. “In spite of my theory . . . I find myself completely [ _hic_ ] inebriated.”

“I know, my dear. That is what happens when a woman of your size and stature drinks as much as you did, in such a short time . . .” he trailed off as he watched her swaying on her feet in front of him and then gave her a little frown. “But surely you know this?”

She shook her head and immediately regretted it. _Maker_ , the world was spinning all around her. She felt like she was dancing some kind of box step just to stay upright. “I thought I was immune.”

Zevran grabbed her by the shoulders to keep her still. She was grateful for the steadying hands. The helpless look she shot him must have convinced him that she was either believable enough or pathetic enough to take pity on. He rolled his eyes and gave a deep sigh. “Come, little dove. Let us go for a walk.” 

He linked his arm through hers, and she found that if she leaned on him slightly she could almost approximate a straight line. She tried focusing on just putting one foot in front of the other without tripping herself, and that seemed to work, but the thought of walking all the way back to camp exhausted her.

_Camp!_ She stopped suddenly. “I can’t let them see me like this!” she said, swaying away from him. 

Zevran caught her and steadied her, draping an arm around her shoulders and propping her up. “That is the purpose of our walk. The fresh air will help sober you up.”

“Oh.” Something warm kindled in her chest and spread out to her limbs. “I like you, Zev. I don’t have to _tell_ you an’thing.” He spared her a glance at that, lips quirking into a smirk. “I’m serioush! It’s nice that you _think._ And you don’t ask _stupid questions._ ” He really _was_ a handsome elf, with smooth bronze skin and hair that shone gold in the afternoon sun. She was struck by a sudden impulse. “Like saaaay,” she said, careening to a halt. He was forced to stop with her. “Say we were to sleep together.” She leaned up against him and draped her arms around his shoulders, bringing her face just a few inches from his. “You wouldn’t have to ask me a buncha questions first, would you?” she whispered, watching his lips as she spoke.

She pressed her body up against his, and she could feel the hard, smooth planes of his chest against her breasts. She let her fingers trail through his hair as she stared at him with a boozy smile.

He went still and stared down at her, lips parted slightly as he searched her face. “I . . . I would not,” he said, and even as drunk as she was she was surprised by how serious he looked. “I would not ask for anything from you that you were not prepared to give,” he added quietly. 

“See? Now _that’s_ a reasonable [ _hic_ ] position,” she said breathily. Suddenly everything seemed so utterly simple. She leaned forward and pressed her lips against his.

And then she felt his hands on her shoulders, gently but firmly pushing her . . . _away?_ She opened her eyes and gaped at him in shock. “The fuck are you doing?”

He gave her a patient smile that made her insides twist. “I think there is a good chance you will regret any impulsive action you take now, _mi querida_.” He hesitated then, with his hands on her shoulders. “I do not wish to be the cause of any more regret for you.”

She stared up at him with her watery eyes, mouth hanging open like a village idiot’s. _This can’t be happening._ Not twice in as many nights. “You’re _rejecting_ me? What the fuck is wrong with me?”

Zevran gave a little _tsk_ and then touched her chin with the tip of his finger. “It is not a rejection my beautiful Warden. If your amorous feelings continue once you’ve sobered up, by all means, my tent is open to you.”

She stared at him for far too long, not comprehending what he was saying. When his meaning _finally_ sank in, she felt her eyes go wide. _What is wrong with me?_ She opened her mouth to say that—to yell it more likely. She felt like screaming it into the bright noonday sky, and then maybe she’d fall into a heap and cry until she died and that sounded like a perfect plan, but when she opened her mouth the next thing she knew she was doubled over, her entire body wracked with painful spasms as she vomited the contents of her stomach onto hers and Zevran’s boots.

Finally, it stopped, and she gulped grateful mouthfuls of air as she rested with her hands on her knees and stared at the disgusting sight at her feet. _Maker’s breath._ She looked up at Zevran with teary eyes. “Why do people do this to themselves _on purpose?_ ”

 


	33. Mistakes, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elissa and Zevran find themselves in some sticky situations in Denerim.

_I said maybe,_  
 _You're gonna be the one that saves me  
_ — _Wonderwall_ , Oasis

"Zevran."

"Yes, my dear?"

"I wanna lie down."

"I do not think that is wise."

"I wanna lie down right  _here_." Elissa planted her feet and Zevran was jerked to a stop next to her. She let go of his arm and started to lower herself to the ground.

But Zevran,  _the utter bastard_ , didn't let her. He grabbed her arm and made her stand. " _That_  is not a good idea,  _bella._  Falling asleep in the middle of a dirty street is  _seldom_  a good idea." He glanced up at the sky. "Even in broad daylight."

All she could do was try not to stumble as Zevran continued to drag her along by the crook of her elbow. It felt like they had been walking  _forever._  "How much longer you gonna make me do this?"

"Until you are no longer a liability to me should you be recognized on our way out of the city."

"Liblety? I'm not a  _lia—_ "Her word was cut off by her stumble, and she would have landed hard on her knees if Zevran hadn't reached out so quickly to yank her up by the armpit. Even as drunk as she was she had the grace to feel some shame. "Alright. So I'mma little bit a lia-liability." The wave of remorse that washed over her had her blinking back tears. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry . . . for everything."

Zevran, to his credit, didn't sigh or groan or act otherwise put out by her bad behavior. He merely raised an eyebrow. "What you need now more than anything is a decent meal."

She shook her head. "I'm not hungry," she said, before stopping again and grabbing her stomach. "Wait. Scratch that. I am actually  _starving_." She looked at Zevran with wide eyes. "I haven't eaten since breakfast!"

He pulled her by the arm to get her walking again and she let him. "That would explain much, wouldn't it? Come, there should be somebody selling something to eat down by the docks."

_Street food?_ She'd never in her life eaten food sold on the street and wasn't certain she wanted to start now. She started to protest, but just then her stomach growled loudly and she snapped her mouth closed. The smells of baked goods and roasted meats and all manner of savory foods hit her nostrils and she felt her reservations wither. There was a row of stalls on the main thoroughfare where a number of cooks hawked various prepared and easy-to-eat hot meals. It was mid-afternoon and the area was busy with people so the lines from some stalls stretched far down into the street.

They picked a line and stood there, waiting, and while they did Elissa could focus on little else but the loud noises her stomach was making. Of course, she was starving. She was always starving.

_Maker,_ being a Warden was  _awful._

Sure, the immunity to the Taint was useful. But the threat of coming down with Blight sickness didn't seem nearly as dire as she'd once considered it, either. So far, the precautions her non-Warden companions had all taken had worked. No one in their party had fallen ill, and they'd faced a number of darkspawn already.

Logically she knew that she and Alistair were still important because of that immunity, but sometimes she wished her Tainted blood came with more abilities and less unpleasant side effects. Up until last night she had been sleeping better, using the tricks Solona taught her to keep the archdemon's influence out of her mind. But it wasn't foolproof, and it had required allowing Solona access to her mind.

The dreams were unbearable. It was either continue putting up with them, or let Solona into her mind for the briefest of moments. She'd made the choice willingly, but still. It rankled that she'd had to.

Being able to sense the darkspawn was useful, too, she knew, but that ability came with a serious drawback as well: the darkspawn could also sense Grey Wardens and would seek them out. She could certainly do without living with  _that_ for the rest of her life.

She scowled at the earth at her feet as she and Zevran inched closer to the counter. Back when she'd started this journey with Alistair, she'd put her odds at surviving their quest as slim to none. It just made sense to be realistic. They faced far too much danger every day and she was far too inexperienced—sooner or later her luck was going to run out.

But now . . . sometimes she let herself believe that she could make it. Sometimes she found herself wanting to believe that there could be some kind of  _life_  after this terrible chapter had passed. But that hope had a bitter side to it as well: it was only now that she'd had some in her that the early grave all Wardens faced started bothering her.

" _Useless_ ," she muttered to herself. Zevran shot her a quizzical look but she just shook her head, too morose to converse about it.

After waiting an eternity they made it to the counter. Exhausted, starving, and with a head full of unwanted thoughts, Elissa leaned against the counter, resting her elbow on its surface with her head in her hand. She closed her eyes and let Zevran do the ordering.

"We'll take two meat pies,  _por favor_ ," Zevran said, placing two coins on the counter.

Her eyes flew open. "Two's not gonna cut it, Zev."

Zevran cocked an eyebrow at her. He was well aware of her appetite—it wasn't something she or Alistair could easily hide from their companions. Every one of them had marveled at just how much food the two of them could pack away. "How many do you think you need?" he asked her quietly.

She looked at the pies sitting on makeshift shelves all around a brick oven that looked ready to fall apart at the slightest touch. The pies weren't huge—they were small and portable and meant to be cheap and easy food for the dockworkers and poor people who inhabited this district. She pursed her lips, and then whispered, "I could eat at least three, I think."

Zevran nodded and then turned to the cook. "Four meat pies,  _por favor._ "

She heard someone give a snigger of laughter, and then a snide voice behind her said, "That's a hungry little girl."

She whirled around to glare at what turned out to be a tall man with tan skin and sky blue eyes. He smirked down at her and something in his gaze made a pit form in her stomach. "What the fuck is it to you?" she spat out.

"Elissa." Zevran shot her a warning look.

She took a deep breath and turned to face the counter. "Sorry, I'm just hungry," she mumbled over her shoulder.

The man gave a mean little laugh. "That's right, listen to your  _elf_ , little lady."

The pit in her stomach turned to acid as she looked up and saw Zevran's eyes narrow dangerously. His entire body appeared taut and poised to strike. "Take care of the way you are speaking,  _señor_ _._ I believe it would be in your best interest to change your tone."

The other man turned to regard Zevran and Elissa held her breath.  _Shit. Not this._ She scanned his appearance, desperate for any little clue she could find that might provide some use. Her eyes narrowed at the red stains on his trousers—right at the knee.  _His left hand, too . . . look there_.

"Oh is that so,  _knife-ear_?" the man said with a sneer, taking a step toward Zevran. Elissa's heart flew to her throat. The man had no idea how close to death he likely was.

"I am a hungry girl!" she shouted, and that was an odd enough thing to say that both men stopped staring daggers at each other long enough to glance at her in confusion. She felt her cheeks burn with a blush at all the eyes on her, but at least the distraction had worked. She licked her lips. "I bet I can out eat any man here," she said, waving her arm around. She felt her balance waver at the movement, and had to stumble to keep her feet.

The crowd tittered with laughter. She was making a drunken spectacle of herself, she knew, but she figured it was a fair price to pay. It was her idiocy that had gotten them into this mess in the first place.

Zevran regarded her with a bemused expression, eyebrows rising high on his forehead.

The other man was leering at her, but if she wasn't mistaken there was calculation lurking in his eyes as well. "Is that so?"

She nodded, making no effort any longer to hide how drunk she was. "Mmmhmm," she said. "How many pies can you eat?" She didn't wait for a response, and waved her hand. "Take that and add one to it. I can eat that."

The crowd around them laughed again, and she stole a glance at Zevran. He shot her a questioning look. She gave a hint of a shrug and he smiled, making the smallest 'go on' gesture with his hand.

The tall man rubbed his chin again. "Alright, you're on!" he said. "Winner has to pay for the pies."

She grinned up at him. "Deal."

* * *

"That was the most impressive and disgusting display I think I've ever seen by a young, beautiful woman such as yourself," Zevran said, handing her a handkerchief so she could wipe off her face.

Elissa blushed, knowing he was teasing. He'd grown up in brothel, for the Maker's sake! She wiped her face with the handkerchief and brushed the crumbs off her tunic. "Well, I had to do  _something,_ " she mumbled, watching her opponent wander away. She'd been a little worried he might kick up a fuss when he lost, but he appeared too stuffed from their contest to do more than groan and waddle away.

Zevran followed her glance with his own, and then gave a low little chuckle. "I could have handled that man without getting into any trouble, Elissa. It's not the first time I've been insulted in the street, you know."

She felt silly, then, for presuming he needed rescuing. "Yeah, well, we got a free lunch out of it this way, didn't we?" she offered with a smile. The crowd around them dispersed, some laughing and joking, others grumbling and upset. Her little bet with the dockworker had inspired all manner of side bets among the crowd. She was pleased to see the happy faces of the few spectators who'd decided to bet on her. "And I think it worked. I'm  _definitely_  sober now. Well, sober- _er_ , anyway."

Zevran's eyebrow arched but he still looked amused. "Indeed, my ravenous little dove. That bet was quite the stroke of luck."

She shrugged a shoulder. "It was hardly luck. I merely exploited his weakness." She shot him a look out of the corner of her eye. "I mean,  _obviously_ , the man is a chronic gambler."

He looked at her with an incredulous little smile that made her feel giddy with pride. "Is that so?"

"Yes! His knees gave the first clue, of course."

"Knees?" The look of mild confusion on his face was utterly delightful.

She nodded, eager to explain her observations. "They were stained… a dull reddish brown. Nothing like the dirt from the street near his stall, but very similar to the red cobblestones from the market district . . . where one would have to be half blind not to notice the groups of men kneeling in the street to … oh what is the phrase they bandy about? 'Throw bones', I believe it's called? So once I saw  _that_ , I knew he was a gambling man. I mean, what other reason would a man have to spend on his knees on the street, right?"

Zevran's eyebrows shot upward at that and he opened his mouth as if to say something, but then seemed to think better of it and shook his head instead. "So he likes to play dice. An interesting observation—"

"And not just  _that,_ " she said, putting a hand on his arm. "Did you notice the injury to his right pinky finger? It looked like the tip of it had been cut off. Now, I know what you're thinking—he's a cook—must've been a kitchen accident, right? But it was such a  _precise_  cut. It looked to me quite similar to an injury one of our Castle guardsmen had. He'd told me he'd lost it when he placed a bet he couldn't pay—said that's what made him finally realize he couldn't gamble like other men."

They started walking away from the crowds. Zevran cleared his throat. "Were you friends with many of your castle's guardsmen?"

She nodded. "I used to play cards with them until my mother forbade it." Her brow crinkled at the memory. "I was livid at the time, but I suppose Mother was right. The castle barracks was no place for an eleven year old girl." Her chest ached at the memory, but for once it didn't feel like she couldn't breathe. It was a good ache, somehow. She gave a little smile at the street. "Plus, she didn't think it was fair that I kept winning so many of their wages. I really  _am_  good at cards when I'm sober, you know."

He offered her a genuine smile. For a moment, she thought she could detect some odd emotion hiding behind it, but then he spoke and the moment was gone. "Luckily for us you are good at eating whether sober or not."

She laughed. "Too bad Isabela hadn't wanted to  _eat_  me under the table, right? That wouldn't have been a problem at all!"

Zevran erupted into a sudden coughing fit, for some reason, and she had to stop and wait for it to pass. Finally he took a deep breath and gave a little laugh. "That might've provided you with more problems than you can handle, actually." She cocked her head to the side and shot him a quizzical look, but he didn't offer an explanation. "In any case, I am impressed, Elissa Cousland. You are a woman of many talents."

Her face grew warm at the praise, even though she wasn't quite certain how serious it was. Her deduction wasn't all  _that_  impressive, she knew. It wasn't the stunning conclusion she really wanted to make, after all.

No, what would  _really_  impress Zevran Arainai would be figuring out his secrets—and he seemed to have plenty.

_What was that ambush_ really  _about? Why didn't he kill me when he had the chance?_  She glanced over at him as they were walking, wondering idly if she should just give up the game and ask him a direct question—but that really wasn't her style, was it? No, she'd figure it out on her own, and earn a lovely look of surprise from the elf's face at last when she did.

They turned a corner, and Elissa realized they were making their way back into the city. "I suppose there's no reason to delay going back to camp now," she said, feeling her stomach churn. It wasn't from the pies.

Zevran looked down at their feet, before looking up at her from under an arched eyebrow as they walked. "I think perhaps, we should do something about these boots of ours before we return, no?"

Elissa crinkled her nose. She'd scraped off the worst of the mess on her boots, but Zevran was right—they could still use some attention. "I don't suppose you know how to get vomit off of leather?"

He grinned at her and offered her his elbow. "As it turns out, I happen to be a man of many talents as well."

* * *

It took them awhile to find the exact ingredient required: a particular kind of soap used on saddles would do the trick, Zevran insisted, along with some rags and water. They finally found a stablemaster who would sell them a sliver of the soap, and then the two of them marched back down to the water and sat down on an empty dock.

Elissa let her feet dangle into the water and watched while Zevran worked on their boots. They sat on the deck in silence for a long time, and the cool water on her feet did much to relax and refresh her. Breathing in the ocean air reminded her vividly of home, but instead of pushing the thoughts away as she normally did, she found herself closing her eyes and just letting herself enjoy both the breeze as it ghosted over her face and the memories that bubbled to the surface.

Zevran took to his task with a meticulous exuberance—he was meticulous in all things, she knew, but a part of her wondered if he wasn't taking his time deliberately, knowing that she didn't want to go back to camp. The thought brought with it a surge of gratitude—Zevran was an unquestionably valuable companion.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she looked over at him. "I know I've said it before but I think it bears repeating—I really am sorry for . . . everything. For being so stupid at the Pearl and throwing up on your boots and . . ."  _Throwing myself at you._ ". . . everything."

Zevran looked up from his work and gave her a small smile. "It could have been considerably worse. You escaped relatively unharmed, and left no bodies in your wake. A fairly mild bender, all things considered." He shrugged a shoulder and went back to rubbing the boots with a damp cloth. "And besides, it was an accident, was it not?"

_Oh. Right._ "Yeah, that's true," she said, looking out at the ships that were coming in and out of port. After a few more silent moments, she took a deep breath. "You know, if I'm being completely honest . . . I kind of knew it was a stupid theory." She glanced over to see if Zevran was watching her, but his attention was back on the boots. "I think a part of me just wanted to do something . . . I don't know. Something stupid. Something I'm not supposed to do." She gave a little wince. "Do you ever feel like that?"

He looked up at her at that and stared for a long moment, and Elissa thought she might have read something behind that shuttered mien of his, but then the mask was back in place. "I suspect that what you and I consider  _wrong_  are two vastly different things,  _mi querida_."

"That hardly matters. What matters is the impulse." She cocked her head to the side and looked at him. "Though now that you mention it, I wonder what you  _would_  consider 'wrong'?"

He arched an eyebrow at her. "Anything that compromises one's ability to survive is wrong," he said and then pointed his chin at the buildings behind them. "Like staying out here any longer. The streets will not be safe once the sun goes down."

"I suppose you're right," she said, glancing over her shoulder at the city as Zevran stood and put his boots on.

He offered her a hand and she took it and rose, before resting her hand on his shoulder so she could balance while putting her thigh-high boots back on. They still felt a touch damp, and she thought she could still smell a whiff of something on them, but on the whole their condition was much improved.

"Thank you, Zevran," she said quietly, giving his shoulder a little squeeze and then gesturing to her feet. "Not just for the boots . . . but for everything today."

His expression was unexpectedly tender as he smiled at her. "It is nothing, my little dove. It was my pleasure."

His easy smile filled her chest with warmth. She really did value and desire his friendship—in fact, probably  _needed_  it, too much to endanger it with her own awkward idiocy, anyway. "Listen," she said, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear and lowering her chin. "About . . .earlier. I know you said that the offer would still be open . . .but . . . I mean . . . I'm probably  _not_ going to sleep with you, you know that right?" The last sentence came out in a rush, and it wasn't until she was done speaking that she thought to wonder why she'd included the word  _probably_  there.

Zevran's eyebrows rose and he seemed to search her face for a few seconds. "No? Well, that is a pity. The offer remains open should you change your mind." With that, he gestured toward the city.

She sighed in relief as she fell into step beside him. She had to admit that his casual attitude about sex was fairly refreshing. "Not that you're not attractive, of course. You are. Quite. And I'm sure a sexual encounter with you would be quite . . . uh . . . satisfying," she said, not really sure why she was still talking but oddly unable to stop herself. "It sounds like you have all manner of experience that would serve you well in that . . . er . . . regard. I just . . . things are already complicated enough, you know?"

He glanced at her sideways before returning his gaze to the street before them. "Indeed."

They passed the buildings closest to the water, and then Zevran led them to a side street leading north. As they walked, Elissa tried imagining how she was going to explain herself to her companions, but that only made her think of Alistair. A sudden knot twisted in her stomach. "I still have no idea what I'm going to say to him."

"To Alistair, you mean?"

She looked over at Zevran, half startled at his response. She hadn't really meant to voice her worry aloud. But now that it was out there . . . "What do  _you_  think I should do?"

He fell silent for a long time before he turned to her with a somber expression. "I think you should end it completely. It will only bring you more pain."

"Oh," she said, blinking at her feet and letting out the breath she'd been holding. "I see."

Zevran's tone was sympathetic. "It's not that you shouldn't seek out pleasure-don't misunderstand me. I'm not so heartless to suggest  _that_. But this connection you share with Alistair? It offers you nothing that you need." He inclined his head toward her. "He makes you miserable, does he not?"

"That's . . . not how I would characterize the situation. Quite the, um, opposite . . . in fact." She crossed her arms over her chest, feeling oddly exposed at the mild confession. But it was the truth. Alistair made her feel  _good_ —certainly better than the alcohol had. She frowned down at her feet, reminded once again about how she continued to go about  _ruining everything._ "I'm fairly certain  _I'm_  the only one making myself miserable at this point."

Zevran remained silent for a few heartbeats, before she heard a little intake of breath. "Nevertheless, I stand by my advice,  _mi querida_. Caring about someone too much . . . it  _limits_  you in a way that I do not think you can afford to be limited."

Her eyebrows furrowed together. "How do you mean?" They turned off the side street and started down a narrow alleyway. Elissa was thankful Zevran seemed to know all the little shortcuts and convenient passages to follow to make their way back north. She probably could have navigated on her own if she'd been paying attention on their first trip, but she'd been too focused on keeping up with Zevran's rapid pace.

"You put too much stock in his opinion of you," Zevran said after a few moments. "You need to feel free to make decisions unfettered by the weight of his regard."

Elissa started picking at the frayed leather of her glove, not meeting Zevran's gaze. There was truth to what he was saying, she was forced to admit. How often had she weighed concern for what  _Alistair_  might think when she was trying to decide what to do? Besides, he wasn't really saying anything different from what she'd told herself already.

And yet . . .

"That sounds like what you were taught to believe," she said jutting out her chin. "Of course, the Crows wanted you heartless and unfeeling in order to do the job you had to do."

His eyes narrowed slightly. "Indeed. They taught me much about how to operate in a world such as you now find yourself in."

"What kind of world is that?"

"A world filled with powerful enemies looking to exploit each and every one of your weaknesses." He paused a beat and then added, "my dear  _Warden_."

She felt her mouth turn to ashes. He was right, wasn't he? But the stark reality of what he was saying felt suddenly and overwhelmingly lonely.

She stopped and turned to face him. "So, you just . . . you just go through life, never caring about anyone, is that it?"

He stopped, too, but fell silent for a few seconds, noticing the way her voice shook and how she blinked away tears, no doubt. "I do not say these things to hurt you, little dove. I say them because I  _know_  them to be true."

Elissa stared into Zevran's golden eyes. His mouth was turned down into a frown and his brows knit together. For once, Elissa thought she could read his expression perfectly, and if she wasn't mistaken, it was full of . . . regret?

The thought made her eyes instantly go narrow.  _That's not right._

She looked away for a few seconds, thinking, before turning back to the elf and saying with a confused little smile, "You know, it almost seems like you're speaking not just as a Crow, but from your own experience." She gave her head a slight shake. "But that can't be right, can it? The mighty Crow, Zevran Arainai, going against everything he was ever taught and actually deigning to  _fall in love?_ "

He went still for a few seconds, before shrugging a shoulder nonchalantly. "We all make mistakes from time to time, do we not?"

"Mistakes?" she said, her face folding into a thoughtful frown. "As in, more than once?" Her heartbeat sped up in spite of Zevran's casual responses. She was on to something,  _finally._ She knew it _._ She shook her head. "I don't think so. More like  _mistake,_ am I right?"

Zevran's eyes actually went wide for a fraction of a second, but then he covered his surprise with an easy smile. "Indeed, it was a mistake I only had to make once. I am hoping you will not have to make it at all, and can learn from my experience." With that, he gestured down the alley. "Come, my dear, before the sun sets and these alleys we have to traverse become even more dangerous."

He turned and started walking, not waiting for her and not looking back to see if she followed. She stared after him for a few seconds, hands clenched in fists at her sides.

Afterwards Elissa would wonder how things might have turned out if only she'd had the grace to thank him for his advice and let the matter drop. Maybe it would have bought them a few precious seconds . . .

But she didn't have that grace, apparently. She hurried after him.

"So let me get this straight," she said sharply, pulling on his arm to make him stop when she caught up with him. He stopped and turned to face her and then glared significantly at her hand on his arm until she let it go. She should have paid more attention to the warning in his eyes, but she was too caught up in her argument. "In your entire miserable life, you only ever cared about  _one_  person?" Zevran didn't answer, so she leaned even closer to him, feeling her heartbeat thrum in her ears at her own bravado. "You think that makes you some kind of  _expert_  or something?" She pointed a finger roughly into his chest. "Do  _not_  presume to tell me what the cost of loving someone is,  _Zevran Arainai_. It's a price I've paid a lot more times than just  _once._ "

For a just an instant, Zevran's face actually  _blanched_ , but then he seemed to recover and a hard glint returned to his eye. "Then let us hope that you can convince Isabela to train you, as clearly there is nothing more that you can learn from me."

Without another word he turned on his heel and walked away from her, through a large stone archway.

After a few seconds of watching him in stunned silence, Elissa scrambled after him, feeling a lump form in her throat.

"Zevran, wait!" she cried, finally catching up to him. He stopped, and when he looked at her his face was a masterpiece of indifference.  _Please don't stop training me._  She swallowed. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said what I said back there. It was rude of me to . . ."

"No," Zevran said, a hint of roughness in his voice. He regained his composure in an instant, however, and smoothed his expression back into a mask. "There is no need for an apology."

" _All_  I meant," Elissa went on as if Zevran hadn't said anything. ". . . is that, you know." She gestured at him. "If even  _you_  aren't immune to . . .  _you know_  . . . how is someone like me supposed to fight it?"

Zevran blinked at her for a few heartbeats, but then his eyebrows rose and the corner of his mouth threatened to curve upward. Before he could say anything, however, they heard a loud clanking noise, and the two of them whirled in time to see a wooden portcullis close behind them.

"Well, well, lookit the little rabbits we caught in our trap."

Zevran and Elissa turned around as one to see a group of men materialize out of the shadows. Elissa counted ten, then twenty figures slowly advancing on them. Their leader was a man dressed in leathers and sporting an ugly scar across his nose.

"What do you  _want_?" Elissa asked, trying to channel her mother's indomitable spirit to infuse her voice with a tone of unquestionable authority.

She didn't have Eleanor's gift, apparently, because her question was answered with a round of mean spirited laughter. The human leader pointed. "You two were working the marketplace crowd earlier today. That's  _our_ territory, and we don't like sharing."

Elissa's throat was unbearably dry. "I don't suppose just giving them coin would fix this," she whispered to Zevran as she tried to inch backwards.

He ignored her question and grabbed her arm, keeping his eyes trained on the bandits in front of them. "When the gate opens, I want you to dash through it as quick as you can, Elissa. Keep running until you get to the marketplace. I will try to lead them in a different direction."

Her eyes darted around. "What? We should stay together, certainly—"

"Do not argue," he hissed viciously, before finally sparing her a quick glance. Her throat closed up at the expression on his face.

"You're not . . . you're not going to do something  _stupid_  are you?" She could see archers now, behind the main group of bandits, readying their bows and arrows.

He smirked, but his eyes remained hard and wary. "Do not flatter yourself. You are a young woman—most of them will break off and run after you." His gaze flitted around their enemies, before he turned and in one swift and expert motion threw a dagger at a lever on the wall behind them. The gate behind them started to rise.

That shot the bandits into action, and a flurry of arrows whizzed by them. She screamed, but then Zevran was upon her, grabbing her arms in a hard squeeze and barking into her face.  _"Run, damn you!"_

She was skittering under the gate and down the alleyway at full tilt before she realized that  _of course_ he'd barked at her like that to get her to take off without thinking.

She heard shouting and the sound of a fire bomb go off, and then the noise of at least a half dozen pairs of feet pounded on the ground behind her, and she couldn't spare any more time to think about the haunted look that had been in Zevran's eyes when he'd told her to run.

* * *

Elissa's chest and sides ached, but the pit in her stomach was even worse.  _Why did you_ do _that, Zevran?_  The image of the elven assassin's curious expression that day of the ambush flew into her mind, along with a sinking feeling in her gut as a deduction she really didn't want to make occurred to her.

Not that she could do anything about it now. She'd led the bandits on quite the chase and managed to halve their numbers with the use of some well-timed bombs, but it was all for naught. She'd made the wrong, stupid choice,  _yet again,_ and went left when she should've gone right, and now she was trapped at a dead end.

The bandits advanced and she inched backwards, expecting to feel the wooden wall at her back any second. She was outnumbered three-to-one.  _Dammit._  If only she'd managed to stay sober enough for at least one lesson from the busty pirate, she might stand a chance at surviving this. But she'd screwed that up, just like every other thing she'd tried today.

She had started wondering if it wouldn't be wiser to just slit her own throat before the bandits got to her and did  _Maker knew what_ , when she felt a tell-tale buzzing at the back of her skull.

Her eyes went round and wide.  _Alistair?_ He wasn't supposed to be anywhere near here, but unless another Grey Warden had popped up in Denerim, the buzzing told her he was close by.

"Alistair!" Her shout sounded hoarse and ragged. " _Alistair_! Help me!  _Help_!"

There were two whole heartbeats of silence as the thugs stared at her in amused confusion and then a wonderfully familiar voice yelled out, "Elissa!?"

She could have melted into a puddle on the ground with relief. "Over here!" she yelled.

The men glanced at each other. "Go check it out," the one with the beard intoned to the baby-faced blond.

She held her breath as he took off in the direction of Alistair's voice. That left only two—the bearded human and the wiry elf. Two was still quite a challenge, but maybe, just maybe, she could pull it off.

_If it fooled Zevran . . ._

She looked at each one of them deliberately, letting her fear show fully for the first time, before looking off behind them and imagining Alistair standing there. "Oh,  _thank the maker_ ," she murmured, letting out a loud breath.

It worked. Both men whirled to see the perceived threat behind them, and that was all the opening Elissa needed.

_A Crow does not hesitate when an enemy's back is turned._  She closed the distance between her and the elf in a few quick strides, jabbing her dagger into his right side in a lethal strike. The other man shouted, and she twisted, the weight of the man she'd killed resting on her blade. Taking a deep breath, she shoved the body forward as hard as she could, pulling her dagger free as she did. The elf's body crashed into her enemy, making him stumble backwards and she leapt upon him, ending his life in a brutally efficient downward stab into his neck.

She allowed herself two seconds to stare down at her vanquished foes in surprised relief, before she turned and fled down the alleyway, sheathing her blades while she ran. Hope pumped through her body as she bolted toward Alistair. Just as she darted around the corner, a figure appeared to block her path.

_Dammit!_ She skidded to a halt.

The baby-faced bandit smirked down at her. "Looking for me, princess?" he sneered.

She could have screamed in frustration. Before she could draw her breath or her blades, however, the man jerked and a bloody metal point appeared in his abdomen, and then disappeared back into his body.

"As a matter of fact I was," Alistair said cheerily, pulling his sword out of the man's back and pushing the body to the ground. He frowned down at the corpse. "And don't call me  _princess._ "

"Alistair!" It seemed the only word she was capable of at the moment, as she stared at him in breathless amazement.

He seemed just as taken back by her appearance, frowning at her with worry as he sheathed his sword and took a step toward her. "Elissa, what in the world are you doing out—"

She crossed the distance between them in a few hurried steps, and flung herself against him, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her face into his chest.

"—Uh, here," he finished, dumbly, apparently frozen solid at the unexpected contact.

Elissa squeezed her eyes shut and sniffed, clinging to him. For a few awful seconds she stood there wondering if he was going to hug her back or push her away, but he finally enclosed her in his arms and she felt herself melt against his comforting presence. "I thought I was going to  _die_ ," she choked out.

He tried to pat her head with his heavy leather gauntlets. "It's alright," he whispered into the top of her head. "You're safe now."

She exhaled loudly in a stuttering breath, before inhaling deeply. It was stupid and a little embarrassing just how much she was comforted by his  _scent_ , of all things, and the thought made a blush creep up her cheek. She felt him take a hard swallow and thought he was about to speak, so she pulled back just enough to look up at him. "Can I just have like, ten more seconds of this? Please?"

His cheeks were a little flushed too and he looked down at her with a confused little smile that made something in her chest flutter. "More of . . .?"

"Of this," she murmured, and then pulled herself close to him again, resting her ear on his chest. She just wanted to stretch this moment out forever, dreading all the questions, explanations and recriminations that were sure to follow.

He froze for a few seconds again, before she heard him give a nervous little laugh. "Uh, alright," he said, holding her more tightly.

She closed her eyes and willed time to stop as she started a slow, deliberate count to ten.

* * *

_Author's note: Huge thanks to both **Riptide Monzarc**  and  **gingergen** for their thoughtful commentary and feedback on this chapter. And thanks to any and all who follow, favorite, or especially review!_


	34. Chase

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair reunites with Elissa and has some bad news of his own.

 

_I'm a little let down, but I'm not dead_

_There's a little bit more that has to be said_

— _Girls_ _Chase_ _Boys_ _,_ Ingrid Michaelson

Alistair's reunion with Elissa was both better and worse than he'd imagined. It was better because let's face it—having a pretty girl press her body against him wasn't the worst thing in the world. It beat the angry glares and awkward silence he was sure he'd earned after last night, anyway. But it was also worse because he was certain the reason she was trembling in his arms had little to do with her feelings about him and everything to do with the fact that she'd just  _almost died_.

_Don't read into it..._

Still, he was content to stand there as long as she wanted, the allotted ten seconds coming and going without him bothering to point it out. This would be the highlight of their reunion, he thought with a sinking feeling in his gut.  _Once I tell her…_

She jerked out of his arms and gasped. "Zevran!"

_Yep, moment's over._ "Where is he anyway? Why'd he leave you out here all by yourself?"

It was the wrong thing to say. "He didn't  _leave_  me here. We got ambushed by bandits and Zevran said to split up and run in different directions." Her gaze darted all over until it settled on an alleyway leading east. She pulled on his arm. "Come on! I can trace my path back."

He dug in his heels. "Hold on. What's your plan? It's getting dark and these alleys aren't safe." He gestured at the body near their feet. "You want to run straight into more of these guys?"

She hesitated. "I'm not leaving Zevran _._ "

"I'm just saying," he said, his mouth gone dry, "there might be a more important problem for us to deal with."

"More important? What could possibly be more important than saving Zevran's life?"

He could think of at least a half dozen things but he refrained from voicing them. Instead, he took a deep breath and told her. "I kind of … lost Solona."

She stared up at him for a few long moments, her face frozen in shock. "You  _lost_  Solona? How do you go about  _losing_ Solona?" Her focus seemed to sharpen, green eyes going narrow and her gaze raked over his form. She caught something at his chest and stepped forward, pointing. "These blood stains are new—you didn't get them from this fight." She blinked up at him. "What are you even  _doing_ here? I thought you were back at camp."

It was his turn to stare. He'd woken up to find she'd already left with Zevran and the prospect of waiting all day for her to come back hadn't appealed. "I took Solona into the city to go see Brother Genitivi."

"Whate _ver_ for?"

"I just thought it was something I could do. It beat sitting around at camp doing nothing."  _And replaying last night over and over in my head_. "And I figured, if this whole antidote plan of Zevran's doesn't work—"

She glared up at him. "It is  _not_  Zevran's plan. It is  _my_ plan _._ "

"Er … right."  _Of course_  it all went downhill once the talking started. "Anyway, it couldn't hurt, right? And Solona was bored too, what with Leliana working at Loghain's, so we figured we'd go ahead and talk to him and see if there was anything to the lead."

"Oh. Well, that's reasonable. Never hurts to have a backup plan, I suppose" she said, to herself, before looking back up at Alistair. "Did you make it to Brother Genitivi's?"

He nodded. "For all the good it did us. He wasn't there, but we talked to his assistant, Weylon. Didn't learn much—I guess the trail leads to Lake Calenhad now."

Elissa shook her head. "Whatever. Get to the part about losing Solona."

"Er, right. Well, the visit didn't take that long and uh, I guess Solona had never been to a pub before so she convinced me to take her to the Gnawed Noble for a drink."

Elissa's mouth fell open. "You went to the Gnawed Noble with Solona?"

He shrugged a shoulder. "Is that really such a strange idea? We weren't doing anything else, so we figured, where's the harm?"

" _You want to go in there?" Alistair said, gesturing with his head to the building in front of them. "That's where_ nobles _go."_

_Solona's left eyebrow ratcheted upward. "And? Do they check people at the door or something?"_

" _No, of course not. I_ _just_ _… I don't_ _know_ _if this is a good idea."_

_Solona heaved a dramatic sigh. "_ That's _your problem. You_ _think_ _too much." She crossed her arms across her chest. "Elissa and Zevran are probably spending the whole day together._ _Just_ _the two of them."_

" _You don't know that. I mean, it doesn't matter_.  _What's your point?"_

" _My point is, doesn't that make you want a drink?"_

" _Of course not—" he started, and stopped, narrowing his eyes at her. "You_ _know_ _what? You're right. Yes. Yes, it does."_

"I suppose … there's no harm in that," Elissa said, picking at the frayed leather of her glove.

He turned his head to look at her out of the corner of his eye. "Riiight. I mean, it's not like I showed up smelling like somebody lit a brewery on fire and then threw up on it, now, did I?"

"Right, of course," she said, and then caught the eyebrow he was raising at her. "Oh, you noticed that." Her hand fluttered to her hair as her gaze darted anywhere but at him. "I was rather hoping you wouldn't."

"It's kind of hard to miss," he said with a wince, before taking a deep breath. He tried to sound relaxed and casual, though his mind was noisy with questions.  _Elissa got drunk? With_ Zev? "So … whatchya been up to?"

She frowned up at him. "It's not what you think. I just …it so happens that I became inebriated and I vomited."

In spite of everything a snort of laughter shot out of him. "That's funny, because that's  _exactly_ what I think happened."

"Right, of course. I just … I meant that it was an  _accident_."

"An  _accident_? What? You were just walking around and  _oopsy daisy_ someone 'accidentally' poured a bottle of rum down your throat?"

"Of course not! That would  _never_  happen. Obviously!"

_Don't laugh. That's_ not _funny._  He rubbed his hand across his forehead. "Alright. So what  _did_  happen?"

"It doesn't  _matter_. It's irrelevant. We're wasting time and Zevran's still out there!"

He'd wanted to press her for more detail—a  _lot_  more detail—but he knew it was a losing battle. When Elissa deemed something irrelevant, the matter was settled.

Still though, he couldn't help voicing at least one more question. "Look, maybe it's none of my business but …did anything, you know, happen? That I should be worried about?"  _That I need to kill Zevran for?_

"I … I don't know what you mean. I'm fine, if that's what you're asking."

"I just… Zevran didn't try anything stupid, right? He didn't … he didn't try to take advantage, did he?"

She blinked up at him, confused, before comprehension dawned and she blushed. "No, of course not," she said, running a hand through her hair. After a moment she crossed her arms together. "I seem to have the good fortune to find myself surrounded by complete gentlemen of late."

There was an unexpected bite to her tone that made him avert his gaze. "Um…"

She waved a hand in agitation. "Can we move on? Give me the short version of  _your_ story,  _please_."

"Alright, alright … so, Solona and I had a few drinks, and then I uh … kind of fought a duel behind the pub—"

" _A duel_?" Elissa erupted. "As in a 'to the death' duel?"

" _Andraste's blood, you're a_ _Grey_ _Warden! Duncan's apprentice."_

_Solona shook her head. "You must be mistaken—"_

_Alistair stepped in front of her. "_ _Maybe_ _I am. What of it?"_

_The blonde man stepped forward as well, his plate_ _armor_ _clinking with the movement. "You killed my friend—and good King Cailan. I demand satisfaction, ser."_

" _The Wardens didn't have anything to do with that!" Solona snapped. "I should_ _know_ _. I was there!"_

_The man's green-gold eyes widened as he took in Solona,_ _seemingly_ _for the first time. "You would compound slander on top of treason? You dare smear_ _Teyrn_ _Loghain's word? The_ _savior_ _of Ferelden,_ _Teyrn_ _Loghain,_ personally  _told me of the Wardens' betrayal." He turned tto Alistair again, jabbing an accusatory finger in his direction. "_ Your _betrayal."_

Alistair's jaw clenched at the memory of the white-hot rage that had descended on him at that. "This knight … he recognized me. From Ostagar. Said he remembered me as Duncan's apprentice."

Elissa took in a sharp breath. "Oh."

He crossed his arms across his chest and stared at the ground between them. "He said … he said  _we_ betrayed Loghain. That Ostagar was all  _our_ fault."

She took a step toward him, reaching out to touch his arm. "It wasn't, you know that."

"I know. It wasn't our fault. It was Loghain's."

She studied his face a moment. "Did you kill him?"

_The knight's throat opened and blood gushed out like a fountain._

"Yeah," he said with a curt nod. "I did."

There was a ghost of smile on her lips. " _Good."  
_

He could have kissed her for that, as awkward and as unwelcome as it might've been. Instead he took a deep breath. "Solona was in the crowd when I fought the guy, but then after I won she was just … gone."

"Templars?"

"I don't know. I didn't see any." He frowned down at his feet. "I mean, maybe she just got lost, and we'll find her back at camp later, but … I'm kind of worried that she might've … run off."

She blinked up at him. "Why would she desert us? Everything was fine …" She glowered up at him. "What in the void did you say to her?"

He put his hand to his chest. "Hey now, why's it gotta be something I said?"

_Solona's chin jutted out. "I'm not afraid to die. I've passed my Harrowing—I_ _could_ _'ve died_ _then_ _too, but I didn't. The Joining won't be the first time I've had a life or death test."_

" _It's not a damn_ test _Solona," he snapped, the ale making his anger_ _feel_ _righteous. "And even if it was, I'm not worried about you_ failing _it. I'm worried that you ..." He trailed off, unwilling to finish the sentence as he looked into Solona's angry brown eyes. He rubbed his forehead. Why were they talking about this? Sodding alcohol. "Never mind."_

_He pulled the heavy tankard to his lips and drank, draining the last of the delicious, nutty ale. The nobles did have good taste, he had to admit._

_Solona leaned forward, forcing him to catch her eye. "You're worried about_ what _?"_

" _Nothing._ _Just_ _forget I said anything. Come on. Finish your drink and let's go."_

He winced. "Alright, I think it might've been something I said."

Elissa threw her hands into the air. "Just when I thought this day couldn't get any  _worse!_ " She closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead for a few seconds, before taking a deep breath. "So, short version: do you have  _any_ idea where she's gone?"

He winced again. "I don't know. I've searched the market district. I came down here because I thought—"

"—she might get on a ship."

"Exactly."

Elissa tapped her chin with her hand, before she turned and started pacing. "So, we have no clue where Solona might've gone, or if she's left voluntarily. Perhaps she simply got lost...couldn't find you and made her way back to camp?" Not waiting for an answer, she brushed the question aside with the wave of her hand. "It doesn't matter. The fact is, we don't even know where to  _start_  looking for her." She stopped. "But we  _do_ know where to start looking for Zevran."

Alistair glanced up. Half the sky was already darkening, and the sunset's golden and red light was fading behind the horizon of the city's buildings. "Look, believe me, I want to find Zevran just as much as you do."  _So I can beat some answers out of him anyway._ "But … it's practically dark, 'Liss. And it's still only you and me…" He rubbed the back of his neck, unable to meet her gaze. "We could run into more of this gang…and besides, how do you know Zevran didn't get away and isn't waiting for  _you_ back at camp?"

It was a weak effort and he could see that she didn't buy it. "There were at least twenty of them, Ali. Maybe more in the shadows I didn't see. That leaves at least fourteen for Zev to contend with.  _Fourteen_! That's too many, isn't it?" She moved until there were a few inches between them and tilted her head up. "He's a trained assassin … but fourteen is too many, isn't it?"

He sucked in a breath. "Not …  _necessarily_ _._ ". Her frown deepened at his lack of conviction. "I'm just worried about the danger." That was the truth, at least.

Her eyes had gone glassy. "You don't understand. We wouldn't even be out here if it wasn't for me." Her face started to crumple and her hand flew to cover it. "This is all my fault!"

"Hey,  _hey,_ " he said, as he reached out to wrap his arms around her again. "Don't do that."

He'd held her for a couple of seconds when she pulled away enough to look up at him, he saw that a few tears streaked her face. "If anything happens to him, it'll be  _all my fault_. I can't … I can't handle that. I just  _can't_."

He gripped her shoulders and bent his head so he could stare straight into her eyes. "Listen to me." He didn't go on until she blinked and focused on him. "We'll find him. I promise."

She stared at him in silence for a few heartbeats, before giving a sharp nod. "That's right. We will." She blinked up at him for a few more seconds before she gripped him in a hug. "Thank you, Ali," she whispered into his chest.

* * *

"This makes  _no_ sense."

Alistair kept his gaze trained on the open portcullis that sat across an expanse of grass. Watching for the return of the bandits, he told himself. "What does?"

"Alistair,  _look_ at this."

With a grimace, he looked over to where Elissa knelt. His stomach lurched. " _Maker's armpit,_ " he swore, trying not to heave.

A good ten feet away his lovely Grey Warden partner sat grinning up at him from amidst a pile of corpses. One dark, full eyebrow rose. "How can you be so squeamish about this? I've watched you hack both men and darkspawn to pieces," she said, gesturing with an arm. Not her arm. A corpse's arm. That she was holding. With her hand.

"That's … that's  _battle,_  Elissa. That's combat. That's not … that's not sitting down and  _playing with their entrails_!"

"I am  _not_  playing with their entrails. I'm examining them to try to figure out what happened. Now, if you'll stop pretending to be an enormous baby and get over here I'll explain my findings."

His grimace didn't leave him as he walked over, stepping over some mass of meat that used to belong to a person. Crinkling his nose, he stared down at her. "Alright. Spill it."

"Well _,_  as you can see these archers have been hacked to pieces," she said, accentuating the point by dropping the arm next to the corpse in front of her. "These men both died from a slashing wound to the chest." She pointed at the bloody gashes that ran almost horizontally across each body. "If I'm not mistaken, these wounds came from a single blow."

He rubbed a hand over his chin. "So, we're talking a greatsword."

"Exactly! Or a battle axe, or … some other big weapon you'd swing in a wide arc. Which doesn't make any  _sense_. Zevran's kills are nothing like this. He attacks from behind and uses precise strikes to vital organs and arteries… he doesn't hack and slash at enemies like whoever killed these men."

"So if Zevran didn't kill them…"

"...then who did?" she finished for him, getting to her feet. "That's the question. Someone helped Zevran … but who?"

"And  _why_?" He must've sounded a shade too incredulous because it earned him a glare. "I'm serious! He's on the outs with the Crows,  _supposedly_. So who helped him?"

"I know you don't trust him, but you're  _wrong_."

She sounded so convinced; it made something in his chest twist. "Am I? And what makes you so certain that you're  _right_? Need I remind you that he tried to kill us?"

"No. He didn't."

He sighed. This was new. "Really? Then I must've just eaten something funny and  _hallucinated_  that whole ambush he set up, huh?"

"Of course not! I'm not denying that he planned an ambush. I'm denying that he tried to kill me."

"Elissa—"

"No! Just  _listen to me_. I never told anyone … but that day of the ambush, Zevran had a chance to kill me and he  _didn't take it._ Why would he  _do_ that? And that ambush doesn't make any sense _._  It's  _nothing_ at all like the strategies he taught me. Why confront us in the middle of the bannorn in open combat, hiring that many people, when he could have just as easily infiltrated our camp and killed us in our sleep?  _That_  is how Zevran kills."

He didn't miss the reverent tone she used to describe Zevran's assassination skills. "Alright, so … maybe he wasn't trying to kill you. What was he trying to do then?"

She bit her lip and winced. "I'm sorry. I can't tell you that. It's not my secret to tell."

He was about to spit out a response—something bitter and jealous and undeniably  _stupid_ , but he snapped his mouth shut, Solona's words from just a few hours ago springing to mind just in time.  _Sulky jealousy is not a good_ _look_ _on anyone, Alistair. Knock it off._

He rubbed his eyes, feeling a headache start to pulse in his temples. Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes. "Alright. What do you want to do now?"

That earned him a thankful smile. She stepped over a corpse toward him. "Let's see if we can track where Zevran went from here."

* * *

Alistair didn't have much hope of being able to track the elf, given the fact that it was fully dark now, but Elissa chose a direction opposite of the one she'd taken and they set off, taking care to keep to the shadows as they searched, hiding themselves whenever they heard footsteps. Just when Alistair was about to lament the absence of Prince and his tracking abilities, he heard Elissa give a sharp gasp.

"Now,  _that_  is a Zevran kill," she said, her pride in her assassin mentor evident in her tone as she knelt to examine a corpse that lay crumpled next to a pile of rags. "Clean and quick."

Alistair remained silent as he stood keeping an eye out for any passersby or more bandits. Fortunately the streets had been quiet. Once Elissa finished looting the corpse they moved on.

They had discovered three bodies already when Elissa spotted a fourth. "Oh! This one is different," she whispered from where she knelt. "I think this one was killed by our mysterious stranger."

Alistair said nothing, too concerned about potential enemies to participate in Elissa's investigation. He trusted her conclusions, anyway.

As he stared into the gloomy darkness he heard a distant shout. Frowning, he took a few steps, straining to hear. For a couple of heartbeats there was nothing, but then another shout and a murmur of voices along with the sound of stomping boots and the clinking of metal came to his ears.

His eyes went wide as a flicker of torchlight cast wicked looking shadows on the buildings some forty feet away.

He was at Elissa's side and pulling at her arm in a matter of seconds. "We gotta go."

She finished attaching a vial to the leather sash she wore strapped across her chest—an invention of Zevran's, apparently, meant to provide easy access to her incendiaries and other bombs. She was on her feet and following him a moment later. "Bandits?"

"Nope, but just as bad."

"City guard" they said in unison, as the bright flicker of torchlight came into view.

He grabbed her arm and started bolting toward an alleyway that ran north.

She pulled back, digging in her heels. "Alistair,  _wait!"_  She yanked on his arm and started pulling him to an alleyway that ran southeast. "This way!"

Before they left the little crossing, a shout rang out and they knew they had been spotted. The sound of boots stomping on the ground hounded them and they began to run in earnest.

They ran down alleyways and side streets and over fences and through slots in walls and it was all his well trained and well conditioned body could do to keep up with the girl darting ahead of him.

They dashed down steps, and then they were running on a pathway that flanked a small channel leading out of the city to the port. When they reached a tunnel under a stone bridge they stopped.

"I think we've lost them," Elissa said, slumping against the stone wall.

Alistair was still panting too hard to say much. "I do too," he managed, before leaning against the wall next to Elissa. Almost in unison, the two slid down it until they were sitting side by side.

"Thank goodness," she said, exhaling loudly and stretching out her legs. She leaned her head back against the wall. "Well, I have no idea how we'll pick up Zevran's trail  _now_."

"Yeah." He sat with his arms resting on his knees, staring into the silver moonlight dancing along the water's surface. As far as channels went, it seemed a relatively clean one—at least judging by the smell, and it was too dark to see the water's true color.

"Do you hear anything?"

"Just the sound of my own wheezing lungs and racing heartbeat," he said, stretching out his right leg. He shot Elissa a look. "You're pretty fast, Cousland."

They sat close enough that he could see the corner of her mouth curve into a satisfied grin. It left almost as quickly as it appeared. "Not as fast as Zevran. I'm starting to think he probably made it. I guess I underestimated him."

"It's really bothering you that you don't know who helped him, isn't it?"

She held her breath for a second, before letting it out in a drawn out sigh. "I  _hate_  not knowing things."

He gave a snort of a laugh before rubbing a hand over his face.  _Maker,_  he was exhausted.

He sat there, catching his breath. The water lapping at the banks of the channel provided a soothing rhythm beneath the myriad noises the city produced at night. It was a comfort, he realized, to once again feel that buzzing sensation at the back of his head because it meant Elissa was near. He'd missed it.

He turned to her to make some pithy comment about Warden senses coming to the rescue.

She was already looking at him, but at his glance she turned away and tucked her hair behind her ear.

_Right_. His mouth went dry. So much had happened—it'd been easy to forget that there was this ...  _thing_  between them. But now...

He felt that knot in his chest return—the one he'd earned last night. He'd gone to bed feeling nothing but sorry for himself, but after lying awake for hours, replaying everything in his mind, he just felt … sorry. Sorry that he'd even  _tried_. Sorry for even thinking that something like this was possible when it  _wasn't_.

He stole a glance at Elissa. She seemed to look everywhere but at him.

He felt sorry for  _her_ , for having his gross ineptitude foisted upon her. He'd done literally  _nothing,_  he had realized last night, nothing at all to try and …well, wasn't he supposed to be the dashing knight sweeping a damsel off her feet? But all he'd done was hesitate, and then when things moved too fast, he'd been an even bigger idiot.

He stifled a groan.  _Maker,_ he was stupid. Asking her about things she didn't want to talk about, without ever even telling her …  _well_. It was too late now.

The silence stretched on and it began to feel unbearable. What was he doing to do? Just …. just give up and never speak of it again? He  _had_ told himself to stop being a coward.

He stole another glance at Elissa and caught her looking at him again. And again, she turned away, this time fidgeting with her glove. He cocked his head to the side and glanced down at his pack. It wasn't the  _best_ time, maybe…

But who knows when they'd be alone again? And if he was going to fail at this anyway, he might as well know that he'd tried as hard as he could, right?

He dug into his pack and his hand found the item he sought almost immediately. Stealing a glance at Elissa, he unwrapped it, took a deep breath, and then placed it in her lap. "Here, look at this. Do you know what that is?"

She startled at his voice, looking up at him in confusion before her eyes landed at the flower in her lap. Picking it up between two fingers she peered at, narrowing her eyes. "It's a rose."

He stared at the flower, his lips turning into a small, private smile. "I picked it in Lother—"

"Of the genus  _rosa._ It's a shrub rose, obviously. Colloquially I think it's better known as a bannorn  _tea_ rose." She attempted to hand the flower back to him.

"Don't know what I was expecting, asking a question like that," he muttered to himself. He didn't take the rose back, but took another steadying breath and soldiered on. "I picked it in Lothering. I remember thinking—"

"Lothering? No, you couldn't have _._ " She pulled the rose back to inspect it.

_This is off to a terrific start._ He stifled a sigh. "I  _could_ , actually, and I did. If you'd just let me—"

"There's  _no way_  you picked this when we were in Lothering. This rose wasn't plucked more than three,  _maybe_ four days ago."

This time he let the sigh roll out of him, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Elissa," he said. "Please, just … listen."

"You really picked this in Lothering?" She cocked her head to the side and touched the rose with one delicate finger. "What could have preserved it like this? Did you steep the stem in a healing potion? I wonder if that would work—" Catching sight of his face she fell silent, eyes going wide. "Wait. What … what are you doing?"

He tried to ignore the image of a trapped animal that Elissa's expression planted in his mind, and took another steadying breath. He could do this. He owed it to himself to try, anyway. "I picked it in  _Lothering_ ," he said, and then waited to see if she would interrupt him again. She'd gone still so he assumed it was safe to go on. "I remember thinking,  _How_ _could_ _something so beautiful exist in a place with so much despair and uglines_ s?"

She stirred at that and for a moment he feared she was going to try and answer his question literally, but she bit her lip instead, looking away.

_In for a copper…_ "I probably should have left it alone, but I couldn't. The darkspawn would come and their Taint would just destroy it. So I've had it ever since."

She moved away from the wall and sat with her legs crossed under her. "Why are you telling me this?" she asked, still holding the rose in front of her like some kind of specimen.

"I thought that I might...give it to you, actually. In a lot of ways, I think the same thing when I look at you."

She looked surprised… maybe even a little wary. "Why?"

Alistair rested his hand on the ground by his hip so he could lean forward. "I guess it's a bit silly, isn't it?" he said, reaching out with his other hand to touch a petal of the rose she held. "I just thought … here I am doing all this complaining." He cupped her hand with his and ran his thumb against the curve of her wrist—the contact was both galvanizing and comforting. "You haven't exactly been having the time of it yourself. You've had none of the  _good_  experience of being a Grey Warden since your Joining. Not a word of thanks or congratulations. It's all been death and fighting and  _tragedy._ "

She had gone still at his touch, but at that she let out a huff of breath. " _Oh_ … um, that's … that's  _true_."

"I thought maybe I could say something. I should have said it a dozen times over by now, and for that I'm truly sorry, 'Liss."

She looked up at him, lips parted slightly. For a moment he thought she might be holding her breath, and that shot a thrill of courage through him. He reached out and cupped her face. "I should have told you before what a rare and  _wonderful_ thing you are to find amidst all this …  _darkness_."

" _Oh."_  Her mouth opened but no words came out for a few seconds. Finally, she let out another breath. "I … I don't know what to say."

He grazed his thumb across her cheek, a thrill of hope coursing through him at her apparent fluster. "Oh well, you know. Just … something,  _anything_ at all. That would work."

She closed her eyes and put her hand over his, leaning her head against it.

He held his breath and leaned forward.

She opened her eyes and they went wide when she saw how close he was. "His name was Rory."

His breath left him in a whoosh. Taking his hand away from her face, he leaned back until his head clacked against the wall.  _Ouch._ "Um…"

She licked her lips. "He was a knight in my father's service. More than that, he was a friend. A  _close_ friend. Almost like … almost like family."

He stared at her, knowing his mouth was hanging open like an idiot's but unable to do anything about it.  _Now she answers?_

She kept her gaze on the flower she still held in her hand. "We were always close, and then things changed, and I didn't know why. It took me  _far_ too long to figure it out." She winced and said in a whisper, "I'm afraid I'm not very good at this sort of thing."

Even as delicate as everything felt, he couldn't help but give a little smile at that. "Really," he said. "I'd never have guessed."

"It's  _true_ ," she said, taking him seriously and making him feel like a heel for teasing her. "It was all very confusing. I knew he wanted something more from me but I just couldn't stop seeing him as the awkward, gangly squire I'd grown up with."

"At least, not until that night." She blinked twice, and then a third time, her scowl deepening as she kept her gaze downcast. "And then, when he stood in front of me and told me that he wouldn't go with me—that he had to stand and hold the gates as long as possible so that  _I_  could get out … then all of a sudden, it was just…" She gave a breathy sigh and held out her hand, palm up. "It was ...  _Rory_."

The affectionate awe of her tone made something in his chest tighten.  _Well, you asked for it, didn't you?_

"I just … it was like I  _saw_ him for the first time, you know? I finally  _felt_ something. I finally saw him as the man he'd grown into." She looked to him, her expression both pleading and apologetic. "I don't know what that means. I don't know what that  _was_. And ... he's dead now so I don't imagine I'll ever know."

"Oh, 'Liss. That must drive you  _absolutely crazy._ "

He could imagine how it all must have played out—the awkward boy growing into a man and falling in love with the teyrn's oblivious daughter. The pang of sympathy he felt for this Rory of hers, this ghost from the past he felt so competitive against surprised him, but the truth was he could see it  _all_. As if in some other reality,  _he'd_ been the boy shipped off to the Couslands to be a squire.

_Of course,_  he fell in love with her.

"I am  _so_ sorry," he said, meaning every word. "That has to be … really hard. I can't imagine…" He cleared his throat. "I can see how all that would make you confused about me."

She inhaled sharply and then seemed to freeze. "Well," she said, eyes darting to his and then down. "I'm  _not_  actually."

His breath hitched in his throat. "Oh?"

She gave him a shy smile. "Indeed. I'm surprised… it's all so  _improbable._  But I'm not confused. Not anymore." Her eyes narrowed. "Though in truth I'm still not convinced it's all not a side effect of the Taint."

He sat there dumbly, blinking at her while she blushed for a few seconds before he laughed and he reached for her, the need for her to be closer suddenly paramount. "And if it is?"

She didn't resist as he pulled her to him, moving to sit on his lap. One of her hands snaked its way behind his neck—the other still held his rose. She cocked an eyebrow and gave him a crooked little smile. "I don't even  _care_."

It occurred to him then that talking was a really  _stupid_ idea when he had Elissa sitting in his lap like this. It must have occurred to her too, because their eyes locked for one breathless heartbeat and then her mouth was on his, warm and wet and not waiting for an invitation. He kissed her back with eager abandon, and this time there was no hesitation—no nagging questions making his mind noisy. She gripped the back of his head and pressed herself more fully against him, and as he dipped her so that her weight rested on his arm he couldn't help thinking that at  _this_  part, at least, the two of them weren't so bad.

She was weightless in his arms, reclining back just like a storybook princess, and yet  _he_ was the one who felt powerless—powerless to stop himself from falling ever harder for this brilliant, frustrating and difficult woman.

He pulled back to look at her one more time and she looked up at him with a dazed and crooked smile, and maybe what all those Chantry sisters said was true because he couldn't seem to stop himself from talking, even now. "Maker's breath, you're beautiful," he said, before bending down to taste the welcoming warmth of her mouth again.

Accepting his inevitable fall didn't seem nearly as frightening as it once did—not with Elissa's body warm against his, her insistent lips on his. It was easy to lose himself in their kiss, and he found himself determined to distract her from the fact that they were supposed to be searching for Zevran.

His tightened his arms around Elissa.  _Sod the elf._ Zevran could look out for himself for a few moments longer.

Alistair had better things to do than look for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: I want to give huge thanks to Riptide Monzarc, gingergen, and Phthalo - their insight, feedback and commentary help make me look so much better at this than I actually am. THANK YOU.


	35. Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solona reveals a bit about her past to Alistair, though she doesn't tell him everything...

_Sometimes it's hard to tell the truth from the lie_  
_Nobody knows what's in the hold of your mind_  
_We are all buildings and people inside_  
_Never know who walks through the door_  
_Is it someone that you've met before?  
__—Little Bird,_ The Weepies

Solona wrapped her arms around her legs and tucked her chin between her knees. She needed to fall asleep, but her eyes felt pinned open wide.

If she found the noises of the great outdoors foreign and alarming, nothing prepared her for the sounds of a city at night. It was  _loud_ and that was a problem.

She needed to escape into the Fade, post haste, and hope against hope that Mister Glowy Mahogany Hair was around, just like he  _hadn't_  been these past few months when she could have fucking used him.

Getting worked up wasn't going to help her situation. She needed to close her eyes and relax. She couldn't afford to just hop into the Fade. It would nearly drain her mana with no convenient tears of the Veil through which to slip, and she had no idea how long she'd have to wait for her friend to show up...

She sighed, wondering if she'd ever manage to relax enough to sleep. She considered shifting into a mouse, but though Morrigan never warned of it she was afraid of going to sleep and waking up and forgetting she'd ever been human. The thought made her shudder.

She closed her eyes and buried her face in her arms, trying to block out the noise. Not for the first time she thought that her particular brand of special snowflake magic was worse than just dangerous—it was utterly useless when she needed it most.

* * *

"Can't you just pop us all into the Fade sometime when we're fighting? Why don't you ever do that?"

"What the fuck good would that do?" Solona gruffed, earning her some scandalized looks from the gentry seated around them. She ignored them in favor of taking another long pull from the tankard in her fist.

Alistair shrugged. "I don't know—once we're there can't you just...manipulate the Fade?"

" _Manipulate_  the Fade...you mean create some kind of nightmare landscape and frighten the bad guys to death?"

"I guess?"

Solona shook her head. "Meanwhile, I'm attracting every demon in shouting distance by tinkering with time and space just for funsies." Alistair opened his mouth to continue but she held up a hand. "Not to fucking mention while we're off in la-la land, our bodies are still lying on the ground defenseless back in the real world."

Alistair put up both hands in a placating gesture. "Alright. I get it. Knocking a bunch of us into the Fade—not so useful. Still, though, what about the whole  _dream_  thing." He leaned forward with his elbows resting on the table. "Elissa said you can  _kill_ someone in their dreams."

She mirrored his action, leaning forward herself. "So?"

His eyes bulged out. " _So_? How is that not useful? You could..." He stole a glance around the room, before turning back to her and speaking in a hushed whisper. "You could kill  _Loghain_ for us in the Fade. End this whole thing."

Solona didn't miss the anger in his tone and she could sympathize—she kind of wanted to choke the bastard to death herself. "First of all, no I actually can't, but even if I could, Elissa doesn't want me to." Alistair looked confused. She shrugged a shoulder. "Elissa thinks Loghain showing up mysteriously dead is just going to look bad for you...um, I mean us Wardens. She says they'll just pin it on us and we won't have any...what the fuck word did she use? Oh yeah,  _legitimacy_." Solona didn't really understand Elissa's reasoning, but she didn't really have to. It didn't matter anyway. "And even if she wanted me to, I couldn't."

"Why not?"

"Do you have any idea how big the fucking Fade is?" He gave her a blank look. "Right! Nobody does. It's not even corporeal. It's ethereal, ever-shifting, infinite...forget being able to  _kill_  Loghain in the Fade, how the fuck am I supposed to  _find_  him?"

Alistair blinked at her a few times. "I never thought about that."

"'Course you didn't. You're not even a mage." She lifted the tankard to her lips and drank. This was number four, she thought. Enough to make her head feel delightfully fuzzy and to loosen up her tongue. "Didn't you ever wonder why we had to go all the way back to Redcliffe to save Connor?"

Alistair stared into his tankard for a few seconds before looking up. "You couldn't find him in the Fade otherwise?"

"That's right. Fortunately the veil was paper thin in Redcliffe by the time we got there—made it much easier for me to cross through, and the tears in the veil helped me locate the demon." She shrugged. "I know it seemed simple at the time, but if the Veil hadn't been so thin at  _both_ the Tower and the Castle, I'd have never been able to do what I did."

"Oh. Wow."

Alistair considered the limitations of her abilities by frowning into his tankard, leaning back against the highback bench of the booth they sat in. "So..."  _Here it comes,_ Solona thought _._ "If it's so hard to find another dreamer in the Fade, how'd you do it before?" He cocked his head to the side and regarded her with a little frown. "You said you've been in one other dream, back at the Tower."

It was a warm day and the cold ale made her tankard sweat. She made crescent shaped patterns on the table as Alistair talked. "Right. That." She set her tankard down. "That was an accident."

"Aaaaand?"

Her lips twitched into a grin even as she rolled her eyes. Alistair could be funny, when he wasn't glaring suspiciously at everybody. Getting a few drinks into him certainly didn't hurt. "Alright, you want all the gory details I take it? Fine, what the fuck? I'll tell you."

 _What did it hurt?_ Everyone already knew she was a dreamer. She didn't really have to hide anymore. Much.

He leaned forward again and so did she, lowering her voice. "So it wasn't until six months or so ago that I really started being able to control my ability. I didn't really... understand what I was. I just knew that my nightmares seemed so much worse than everyone else's."

"But then one day I figured out how to hide from the demons, and I realized that I could block them out." That was mostly the truth. Close enough, anyway. "I...found a book on  _somniari_ , and I started wondering if that's what I could be." She licked her lips and looked around. Even this edited version of her story was somewhat damning, and she'd never shared it with a single soul before. "Apparently, dreamers of old needed some kind of a  _connection_ with a person in order to hop into their dreams. You need to...you need to  _know_  them, feel something or other about them and somehow  _use_  that to find them."

Alistair frowned. "That sounds... incredibly vague."

"You're telling me? I was reading some historian's best guess at how the dreamers of ancient Arlathan communicated. It wasn't exactly a practical guidebook."

"So that's why you can't find Loghain? You don't  _feel_ anything about him?"

"Oh I feel lots, don't worry. But I've never met the guy. I have a half formed idea of what he even looks like."

"Fair enough. But you said it was an accident..."

"Right, I'm getting to that. Anyway, I wasn't convinced that I was right, to tell you the truth. I wanted it to be true, I guess, so that I could finally have a name for this whole thing. But I didn't really believe it would work. Not  _truly._ " She met his gaze with a pleading one of her own. If he believed nothing else about her tale, she wanted him to believe  _this._ "I would have  _never_  done it if I would have thought for one second that it would really work."

His eyes went wide. "What did you do?"

She looked away. "One night when I was in the Fade, I started... thinking about my best friend. I just focused on her—everything I knew and felt and I...I thought that if I really  _was_  a dreamer, she'd be the best one for me to test it out on." She took another pull on her tankard, hating the way her heartbeat sped up and her stomach sank at the thought of Neria. "Being able to focus on her like that...it worked. The next thing I knew...I was in her dream."

She fell silent and went back to moving her tankard across the table, making rings in the wood. Alistair cleared his throat. "Was it a bad one?"

She set the tankard down again and then crossed her arms over her chest. "Not particularly. Not at first. You know, dreaming for a mage is a bit different than it is for you mundanes. It's still... weird and it can be nonsensical, but we at least  _know_  we're dreaming." She hesitated, a moment, frowning down at the table. "When I found Neria, she didn't know it was really  _me._ " She swallowed the lump in her throat at the memory. "She thought I was a demon sent to torment her using the visage of her best friend."

The breath Alistair sucked in at  _that_  was loud enough for Solona to hear. "Why would a demon torment her with  _your_ form?"

Her lips twisted into a sneer. "That's a good question. Turns out, Neria wasn't who I thought she was. At all."

_The moon hung large in the sky, its pale light glittering over sand and water. Solona looked around, blinking in confusion._

_She never dreamt of beaches, having never seen one herself._

_Someone gave a disgusted snort behind her. She whirled around to see Neria sitting not five feet away from her, dusky feet buried in the white sand. The moonlight made the elf's white hair positively glow. "Not_ you  _again. Don't you demons ever get tired of mining that well? It's not going to work."_

_Solona froze, eyes going wide. She spared a glance for herself and saw that she was dressed in the same flimsy white dress that Neria wore. Its neckline, if you could call it that since it came nowhere near her neck, left the tops of her breasts exposed, and the bodice was tight enough to make them sit high on her chest in two plump mounds._

_She raised an eyebrow at the get-up. Neria's dress was just as tight, and Solona's pulse quickened at the thought that_ this  _was a vision wrought from the pretty elf's sub-consciousness._

_But any quickening of pulse or breath was premature—Solona's eyes met Neria's and found nothing but bored disdain in their black-green depths._

_Solona crossed her arms to her chest; the wind of the Fade blew just as cool on her skin as actual wind. "Why do you think I'm a demon?"_

_Neria huffed a breath and leaned back, propped up by her elbows. The wind made her shimmering white dress cling to her petite curves, but if Neria felt cold, she didn't show it. She cocked an eyebrow up at Solona. "Alright, fine. If this little act of yours makes you feel hopeful...so be it." She took a deep breath. "You and all your demon brethren think that if I'm reminded of my imminent betrayal of Solona, I'll be so wracked with guilt that I'll succumb to the bliss of your power, or some such nonsense. And I'm telling you, play dumb all you want, it's not going to work. I don't feel guilty at all."_

_Solona could have sworn that her face went numb._ Imminent betrayal? _"How are you going to betray her?"_

_Neria's eyebrow rose at her choice of pronoun, but didn't bother to mention it. She let her head drop backward, exposing a long expanse of the smooth, dark skin of her neck while she gazed up at the stars. "Jowan and I are going to escape the Tower without Solona."_

_It felt like the beach had been set to spinning. A parade of increasingly intense emotions shot through her in quick succession—shock, anger, and then sickening hurt. "But..._ why _?"_

 _Neria moved to a sitting position. "Because, Solona. You're not a particularly_ good  _mage, in case you haven't noticed." Her face was expressionless, as if this entire conversation was so utterly beneath her. "You're a_ decent _healer, I'll give you that, but so am I. Your primal magic is weak, you can barely cast a hex at all...you're just kind of..._ useless _."_

_Hot tears prickled at Solona's eyes and she felt her chest tighten as Neria continued to stare up at her as if she were no more important than a piece of furniture. "How...how can you say all that?"_

_Neria made a_ tsk  _noise with her tongue. "Oh Solona. You are a very sweet girl. And we've had some fun. But really, it's for the best if you stay behind. I don't think you'll last in the outside world very long at all." She shrugged, and the condescending sympathy on her face made Solona's gut twist painfully. "You're just not good enough."_

 _Solona couldn't breathe. This was all so surreal. It was impossible to rectify this cold, calculating woman with the image of Neria in the real world. She was always smiling, always sweet, always made Solona feel that when they were together, they were the only two people in the entire world... But this was the_ true  _Neria, a part of her understood, uncloaked in front of her for the very first time._

 _She shook her head. "You're wrong, Neria. You don't even_ know _." A bubble of hysterical laughter escaped her. It really was rather ironic, wasn't it? "You think I'm not special, that I can't_ do  _anything. But nothing could be further from the truth!"_

_Neria sat there staring up at her, unmoved by Solona's words. She had to wonder what the demons who'd masqueraded in her form must have done in order to try to get Neria to break. The thought made her stomach lurch._

They are going to leave me.  _"Please, Neria. You can't just leave me here without you and Jowan. I can't stay here by myself." She knelt in front of Neria, and reached out to shake the skinny elf by her dainty shoulders. "I am not useless!"_

_The instant her fingers made contact with the skin of Neria's shoulder everything changed._

_The entire world went_ flat _and then there was a vertigo-inducing lurch, and she was suddenly seeing everything in duplicate—she saw through her own eyes, and she saw through Neria's as well._

What is this?

_Solona didn't know to whom the thought belonged and in the next second a lifetime's worth of memories flooded her consciousness and she could do nothing but gape dumbly at the whirl of images and emotions flying through her mind and body._

_So much pain. And hatred. And penetrating sadness. But beneath it all...a cold, black...void._

_Solona gasped, and then let go of Neria, and then she was falling, falling..._

"And then I guess I woke myself up," Solona finished. She'd given Alistair a brief summary of the dream—leaving out a few things, of course. "By the next morning I'd half convinced myself that  _I'd_ been dreaming the whole time—that the whole thing was some elaborate trick of a demon on  _me._ "

"Wow," Alistair said, blinking into his empty tankard. "That's a hell of a story." He frowned then, and cocked his head to the side, giving a little snort and shooting a disbelieving look at her. "Why are you telling me all this?"

The waitress arrived just then. "Another round for you two?"

Alistair looked about to object, so Solona cut in before he could. "Two more, please. And thanks."

His objection must not have been all that strong because he shrugged and leaned forward, still apparently enthralled in Solona's story.

"You haven't even heard the best part."

Alistair's eyes went wide and Solona had to fight a smile. Maybe it was the ale. Maybe Alistair was a decent listener. Whatever it was, it felt  _good_  to confide this secret of hers—even as edited as it was (there was no need to tell him  _everything_ )—it was a bit of a relief to finally share that awful experience with someone.

He even looked sympathetic. Solona had to wonder if that would last when she finished the story. "So the next day, I could barely look at Neria. I wanted to believe that I'd invented the whole thing in my own dream, but deep down, I knew better. And then..." She shook her head, her mouth gone dry at the memory. "We're sitting there in the library, just me, Jowan, and Neria, and she leans over and tells me that we need to talk, that there's something she and Jowan need to tell me."

Alistair's eyebrows shot upward. "Oh yeah?" he said, before giving a smile to the waitress as she set two more tankards of ale in front of them and then took away their empty ones.

"Yeah." Solona's mouth set into a grim line. "She told me that she and Jowan and his Chantry girlfriend had hatched a plan to escape and they wanted me to come along. Neria had it all planned out...we were all going down to the basement together to destroy our phylacteries and escape."

"Huh." Alistair wore a thoughtful frown as he held his tankard halfway between the table and his mouth. "So she changed her mind?"

Solona glared at him while he drank. "No. Don't you get it?  _I_ changed her mind."

Alistair lowered his tankard. " _Oh._ "

"Yeah." Solona took a healthy pull, hoping to drown the lump that wanted to lodge permanently in her throat. It was no picnic, dredging up feelings and memories of Neria that she'd just as soon forget.

A whole chain of rings decorated the wooden table before Alistair spoke again. "So how do you know she didn't just change her mind on her own? How do you know it was  _you_?"

Solona put the tankard down, and laid her hands on the table, palms down. "It wasn't just the fact that she told me. It was...it was the way she  _looked_  at me." She glanced up, wary of his response but he just looked at her in curious sympathy. She let out the breath she was holding. "I don't know how to describe it. But she looked at me differently."  _Like I was a puzzle worth solving._ "It scared me. Because...because I think I  _did_  convince her that I wasn't so useless, that there was more to me than she knew. But...for Neria... it was like  _she'd_  thought of that all on her own." Solona frowned, running the pad of her finger over a wet circle until it was divided in half. "Like it was all her idea to look closer into my story. She started asking me questions."

Alistair inhaled sharply. "Did she figure out what you can do?"

"I don't  _think_ so. But it felt like she was  _going_ to, and that scared the shit out of me. After learning what kind of person she was in her dream..."

She didn't tell Alistair of the sinking certainty she had felt that Neria would uncover her secret, and once knowing it, use her considerable power over Solona to convince her to use her abilities toward any end Neria saw fit.

It scared the hell out of her and she had known then that what her friend had told her was true: if people knew about her they would want to use her toward their own ends.

She couldn't let that happen.

Alistair cut in to her reminiscing. "So what did you do?"

The glass in Solona's throat remained even after another long pull from her tankard. Staring at the fading chain of watery rings strewn across the table, she confessed. "I went to Irving and turned Jowan and Neria in."

Alistair's mouth gaped open wide and his eyes went round. " _Andraste's_   _elbows_! I wasn't expecting  _that._ "

She couldn't meet the Templar's gaze. Why was she doing this again? She was definitely drunk. How else could she tell him about all this? Oh, but it  _had_ been on purpose, she remembered, taking a deep breath and trying to clear her head. "I...didn't know what else to do! I thought he might  _help_ them, instead he just... he just wanted to make sure that cow  _Lily_  got an equal share of the blame."

A low whistle escaped Alistair's lips. "Well," he said, a beat later. "I can't really say I blame you. You did what you were supposed to do in that situation."

"Yeah, well, I did what I did, and I'm not proud, and frankly, I wish I'd never even known about the whole thing and that the two of them had just escaped into the night and left me behind."

The silence stretched on for several minutes after that; Alistair seemed lost in his thoughts and Solona was forced to wait for his next question. He set his tankard down and leaned forward, folding his arms atop the table. "So that's why you hate using your abilities?"

"If I had my way, I'd never use them again."

"Really? It isn't... tempting at all? Knowing that you could change a person's mind without them even knowing?"

A wave of nausea washed over her as she remembered the sensation of joining minds with Neria in her dream. "It was awful. For one brief moment I had complete access to the...to the  _totality_ that is another person's mind."  _And it didn't help that she was a bloody sociopath to boot,_ she thought, but didn't say.

In any case, she was telling the truth when she said she didn't  _want_  to use her powers again. "Assuming that I could? I'm still not quite sure  _how_  I did what I did with Neria. And frankly, I don't want to learn. Digging into a person's mind and twisting their motivations to your own ends?" She leaned forward, gripping the edge of the table with her hands. "If I do that, how am I any different than a demon?"

 _"I'm a...I'm a_ monster _."_

 _The man with the mahogany hair chuckled and then shook his head, fixing a sympathetic look on Solona. "No, my dear. You are_ not  _a monster. You're so much_ more _than that. Don't you see? We both are. We're special, you and I. Gifted." His face grew serious and his eyes hardened. "You should not turn your back on such a blessing."_

"I... I guess I didn't think of it that way." Alistair's hazel eyes searched her face, brows pulled together in a thoughtful frown. After a few seconds he seemed to relax and offered her a small smile. "Good to know you're not hankering to come hang out in my skull anytime soon."

Some of the tension drained away at his humor. She cocked an eyebrow at him. "Who wants to hang out in an empty room anyway?"

"Oh, very funny. Ha ha ha." Alistair cocked his head to the side. "So what happened? You obviously didn't escape the Tower..."

"Oh right!  _This_ is the best fucking part of all. You're going to  _love_ this. So, I go to Irving and tell him what's up and he tells me to go along with it all and he'll handle it. The four of us—Jowan, Neria, Lily and me—head down to the catacombs to look for our phylacteries. We find Neria's and we find Jowan's—no problem. Mine? Nowhere to be fucking found."

"So you destroyed their phylacteries?" Alistair said with a wince.

She hesitated, not missing the hint of disapproval. "They did. 'Course at the time, I figured it didn't matter much because I didn't think we'd get away with it." She took a deep breath and let it out, exhaling slowly. "Anyway, we had just stepped foot back on the first floor and we see that Irving and a bunch of Templars are waiting for us, along with this big strapping blond fella I didn't recognize."

"So Irving told Gregoir?"

She nodded. "Jowan freaked out when he saw the Templars... that's the first time I saw him use blood magic." She looked off to the side, shaking her head slightly. "That  _had_  to be Neria's doing—I can see that now. He'd have never taken up with it if it wasn't for her influence."

"I see."

Alistair didn't look too convinced but she let the matter drop, not caring to launch into yet another defense of her oldest friend. "Anyway, Jowan got away but the rest of us were stuck. Gregoir was all set to have Neria sent away to Aeonar, when the blond stranger piped up. Said he was with the Grey Wardens, and that they could use someone with Neria's abilities."

Alistair's face screwed up in confusion. "Grey Wardens? What? There were no—"

Solona held up a hand and laughed. "Oh, trust me—you're going to want to hold your questions till the end." She took another drink from her tankard, a little amazed at how amused she felt about the whole thing  _now._ The drink and the knowledge of how things eventually got resolved helped her find the humor in the situation. "I had  _no_ idea that the Wardens were at Kinloch Hold, but once I found out I was just about beside myself with excitement. I kind of had a...fascination with the Order when I was a kid. I had this whole fantasy that I'd be able to Join and escape the Circle someday, but I never dreamed that it might come true."

"You did?" There was admiration in Alistair's gaze, if Solona wasn't mistaken, and she couldn't help but find that encouraging.

"I did. And Neria knew it." She gritted her teeth, remembering what it was like to have the possibility materialize before her eyes only to have it snatched away a moment later. "But this big Ander fella... Sven or Hans or something like that...he wanted nothing to do with me. Pulled the Rite of Conscription to recruit Neria, but flat out refused to recruit me."

She could see that Alistair was dying to ask a question, but he stayed quiet, waiting for her to continue. She took another long pull on her tankard and set it down, running her sleeve across her mouth to wipe it.

"So that was that. Neria hugged me, said all this fake sweet shit, and left that night with the Warden. And I went back to the Circle without my two best friends."

"Sounds like you were better off," Alistair muttered into his tankard.

She narrowed her eyes but thought better of correcting him. It didn't matter now, anyway. "Afterward, I wondered...it seemed  _far_ too coincidental that a Grey Warden happened to be in the Tower the night Neria wanted to escape. I couldn't help wondering if she'd known, somehow, that he was going to be there."

"But, we never even sent a Grey Warden to the Circle!" Alistair didn't seem able to keep it in any longer. "Last I heard, Duncan had sent a letter about visiting, but I never heard if there was a response, and then he decided to go to Highever instead."

Her lips curved into a smirk in spite of herself. "Just listen...so a few weeks go by and then I hear that the army wants mages for a battle against darkspawn to the south—a request of the king and the Grey Wardens. Once I heard that, I volunteered to go."

Alistair's eyebrows rose. "You  _wanted_  to see Neria again?"

"I wanted answers. I wanted to know if she really went through with it. And I wanted to know if she survived."

Alistair's posture went rigid. "Oh, right," he said, not meeting her eye. His brow pulled together in another frown an instant later. "The only Warden we had from the Anderfels was a short, stout redheaded—"

"Ex-fucking-actly," Solona said, slamming her tankard on the table and drawing a few more stares from the patrons around them. Neither she nor Alistair gave them any attention; they were both too wrapped up in her tale. "Imagine my surprise when I get to Ostagar, and there's no fucking Sven or Hans or whatever the fuck his name was, and definitely no fucking Neria!"

For the second time tonight Alistair looked stunned. " _Damn_."

Solona smiled into her ale as she lifted the tankard to drain it. It  _was_ a hell of a yarn—even she could see that. And it was the truth. Not the whole truth, maybe, but still. "So  _now,_ maybe you can drop the whole suspicious act and just... get over your little problem with me?"

His head actually jerked up in surprise. "What? My  _what_? I don't have a problem with you."

Her chin dropped. "Don't even try to deny it! You've been an absolute  _prick_ ever since you found about me." She crossed her arms over her chest. "You think I'm...sullying your heroic order or something, don't you?"

For the third time that day, Alistair stared at her with his mouth gaping open. He recovered quickly, however, snapping his mouth closed and running his hand over his face. "It's...not that. I swear. I don't have any problem with you being a dreamer. Or a mage, for that matter."

 _I told you that whole story for nothing?_  It was her turn to stare. "Well, then what the fuck is your problem with me?"

At least he didn't try to deny that there was one—he looked far too guilty for her to buy that, anyway. He shifted around in his seat, clearly uncomfortable at this turn in the conversation. "It's not a problem with you at all...not really. It's more of a problem between me and Elissa, honestly." At her silent glare he gave a deep sigh and went on. "It's the way you were recruited. It's just...it's just not the way we're  _supposed_ to do things."

She frowned as she studied his face, trying to figure out what he was worked up about. "How do you mean?"

He took a huge breath and then let out in a noisy sigh. "Well, for one thing, you're not supposed to know the things you know." He met her gaze then, and his mouth was set in a thin, grim line.

 _Oh_. "The Joining. I'm not supposed to know what it is."

He shrugged. "Typically we don't tell recruits anything about it until it's happening. That's just the way it's supposed to work."

She had to admit, it made sense. Alistair's reverence for the Order was obvious—of course he'd be uncomfortable with deviating from tradition, even though he and Elissa were all that was left of Ferelden's Grey Wardens. "Well, look," she said, feeling suddenly magnanimous. "We don't even have the means to do a Joining, according to Elissa. So, there's no real point in worrying about it now, is there?"

He met her gaze and seemed to hold his breath for a few seconds before letting it out. "You're right. Of course. Best to not dwell on it."

With that he raised the tankard to his lips and drank, casting his gaze around the other patrons at the bar.

They should probably get up and get going, but there was something in the Templar's demeanor that didn't quite sit right, and she couldn't let it alone. "You know, any one of us could die at any time. Elissa says that often enough."

He met her gaze and seemed to freeze for a few seconds. "Right," he said evenly. "You're right, of course."

The delicate way he was speaking rankled her. It was a little rich that the source of their conflict was this looming test that he and Elissa had already passed. That was the rub of it, wasn't it? That was the dividing line between them, and she was a fool not to see it before. She wasn't a  _real_  Warden.

Solona's chin jutted out. "I'm not afraid to die, you know. I've passed my Harrowing—I could've died then too, but I didn't. The Joining won't be the first time I've had a life or death test."

"It's not a damn test Solona," Alistair snapped. "And even if it was, I'm not worried about you  _failing_ it. I'm worried that you..." He trailed off, rubbing his forehead with a frown. "Never mind."

He kept his gaze trained on the table, reaching for his tankard and drinking from it.

Solona stared at him. He wasn't worried about her dying from the Joining? She leaned forward, forcing him to catch her eye. "You're worried about  _what_?"

"Nothing. Just forget I said anything. Come on. Finish your drink and let's go."

She really  _had_ had too much ale because the tavern was positively spinning when they got up to leave. But it wasn't the alcohol that set her mind to racing.  _I'm not worried about you_ failing _. I'm worried that you..._  That she what? That she  _would_ survive it? That didn't make any sense, but there were only two possibilities to consider when imagining her future hypothetical Joining. Either she survived, or she didn't.  _Right_?

She stumbled after Alistair as he pushed open the heavy wooden door of the tavern, letting in the bright afternoon sun. Her eyes teared up at the sudden light, and it took her a few seconds before they adjusted again.

Alistair seemed to be walking a lot steadier than her. She was almost as tall as him, but his extra mass kept him from reaching quite her state of inebriation. "Alistair," she said, pulling on his arm to get him to stop. "Wait."

He looked over at her, rubbing the back of his neck. "Come on. We spent far too long in there. We ought to be heading back—"

She stared up at him, annoyed that he seemed so sober when her brain was spinning in mush. Frowning up at him she tried to focus on his face. It was blurrier than she would have liked. "You're not afraid of me dying and you're not afraid of me  _not_ dying. So what is it?"

He winced at her, but before he could respond the door to the tavern banged open and a man with silver blond hair and shining armor stepped out into the street.

The next thing Solona knew, they were spitting words back and forth at the graying knight about Ostagar, and Loghain and the Wardens, and she probably should have tried harder to stop it from happening, but her brain was too full of drink and insistent questions to do more than meekly object when Alistair agreed to step behind the tavern and fight the man in a duel.

She followed, knowing it was a terrible idea and doing nothing to stop it. As she watched Alistair and the knight begin to circle each other she tried once again to finish Alistair's sentence.  _I'm not worried about you_ failing.  _I'm worried that you..._

Alistair neatly side stepped the older man's assault, bringing up his shield in a fierce and effective counter move.

 _They don't tell the recruits ahead of time._ A stone of ice settled in her stomach as Alistair increased the frequency and ferocity of his attacks, apparently venting all his rage and grief over Ostagar on the poor fool who'd picked the exact wrong time to push his buttons.

 _He's worried that I'll chicken out._ It came to her with a sickening lurch as Alistair drew first blood, slicing open the man's arm with a quick strike of his sword. And though it was never spelled out in any of the books she'd read, and she'd never had cause to wonder about it before, now, it seemed obvious: if she lost her nerve and balked at drinking from the cup, Alistair would...

_Because, of course it'd be him. He's the Templar._

Maybe it shouldn't have mattered—certainly it shouldn't have if she was half as committed to being a Warden as she'd led Elissa and Alistair to believe. But the truth was, recognizing how Alistair perceived his duty while watching him thoroughly trounce a seasoned warrior in a battle to the death made it suddenly apparent that she wasn't all  _that_ committed to the idea of being a Warden after all.

She made a snap decision. Alistair's back was to her, so it was nothing to simply slip away behind the crowd, dash off into a dark corner, shape-shift into a mouse...and  _flee._

* * *

The gazebo sat at the center of a small clearing, surrounded by shrubbery trimmed into elaborate shapes and bathed in the golden light of the noon day sun. The sweet smell of flowers would have been cloying had a gentle breeze not whirled through the trees, refreshing and revitalizing any who breathed it in.

It was a beautiful and serene setting, or else it would have been had the air not been pierced by a frantic and shrill voice.

"Where the _fuck_ have you been?"

A tall, brown haired woman dressed in blue robes stood with her arms crossed in front of her, bent over slightly to glare menacingly at a figure that sat relaxed in perfect repose on the wooden bend in the center of the gazebo.

The figure on the bench shook his head, and his mahogany hair glistened in the squares of sunlight that streamed down through the latticework of the gazebo roof.

"Solona, dear, such language! Is that really necessary?" He draped an arm casually over the back of the bench and fixed Solona with an apologetic but distant smile. "And as I have said before, I  _am_  sorry for abandoning you these last few tumultuous months. I assure you I would have come at  _once_ had I known all the trouble you're now in."

"Well," Solona said in a huff of breath. Her shoulders relaxed incrementally. At least he was fucking  _here._ "I could really use your help."

The man gave her a sympathetic frown. "Of course," he said, patting a spot on the bench next to him. "Come—sit here and enjoy this beautiful sunshine with me."

She hesitated only a few seconds before perching herself on the bench next to him, curling her legs under her and putting her own arm up on the back of the bench. "Well," she said, exhaling slowly. "It  _is_  good to know you're alright."

After her explosive outburst, her anger had cooled almost instantly into relief. She'd been worried that he was dead, or worse yet, done with her.

And that would be a shame. After all, Aurelian Titus was the only person she'd ever met that she could be almost completely honest with.

The magister smiled warmly at her and gently placed his fingertips on her upper arm. "Let's have a chat then, you and I . . ." He leaned in and his voice dropped so he could whisper conspiratorially, "dreamer to dreamer." His smile grew wide. "Tell me  _everything._ "

She let out a deep breath, and proceeded to do just that.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Riptide Monzarc for his fantastic beta skills!
> 
> PS. Magister Aurelian Titus is a character from the Dragon Age comic books. Given that the events of those books happen well after the Blight, there won't necessarily be any spoilers here, other than learning a little about the Magister and what he can do.


	36. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair and Elissa meet someone unexpected.

_Here we go,  
_ _going it alone  
_ _into the dark and  
_ _wonderful unknown...  
_ _-Wonderful Unknown,_ Ingrid Michaelson

_We should stop._

The thought was an insubstantial, unpersuasive thing that barely pierced his brain, clouded as it was with all the sensation that kissing Elissa entailed. Alistair had no idea how long he'd been sitting under this bridge with her perched on his lap, her hand pressing against the back of his skull as they continued to explore each other's mouths. Her kiss was intoxicating and indulging in a few minutes of this bliss hardly seemed like such a crime, given how long he'd (stupidly) waited for it.

Still, as much as he enjoyed the weight of her in his arms, the thought popped up again after a few moments that maybe it was time to stop. They weren't exactly in the safest of locations-bandits or city guard could appear at any time and both would be equally disastrous.

But the longer he kissed her, the less he wanted to stop. That was another, different kind of danger, and when Elissa paused for a breath and shifted so that her hand snaked between their chests it became the more compelling and urgent one.

She must have heard (or more likely  _felt_ ) the hitch in his breath at her movement, for she pulled back just enough to allow her to whisper into his mouth, "don't open your eyes."

The strangely alluring command delivered with a puff of breath on his lips shot a spike of desire straight to his groin, so he could only dutifully obey when she once again pressed her mouth to his, and kept his eyes shut tight. The internal voice had turned into something of a shout now ( _What are you going to do? Take her right here underneath the bridge?)_ but he felt powerless to act contrary to Elissa's command.

Her hand lowered and fumbled with something at her waist and he found himself holding his breath...but then her arm jerked outward and though his eyes were closed he got the sense that she... _threw_  something? There was a  _tinkle-pop_  noise and a flash of light bright enough to see behind his eyelids, and then the weight of Elissa was simply  _gone_ , and he opened his eyes to see two figures standing on either side of them, stumbling around as if blinded.

It was a testament to his training that he was able to so quickly shift from the heated throes of passion to battle-ready alertness. With a wordless shout he scrambled to his feet and drew his sword, pointing it at the figure nearest him.

"Keep your hands where I can see them," he heard Elissa hiss behind him, and gave a gulp of relief that she'd managed to get the drop on the other figure. He wouldn't risk turning his head behind him to look, not wanting to take his eyes off the man in front of him.

A familiar chuckle came from the darkness behind him. " _Bella_ , I will put my hands  _wherever_ you command."

"Zevran!" Elissa gasped, and in spite of how he'd spent the last twenty or so minutes, Alistair's stomach sank at the excitement in her tone. He heard a rustle of movement and surmised that she'd sheathed her blades. "You're alive!"

Alistair didn't think that was any reason to let down their guard. He kept his sword pointed at the other man... _No, elf,_ he corrected, as the man turned his head and revealed a slim, pointed ear. He was easily the tallest elf Alistair had ever seen-they were practically the same height, though Alistair guessed he had a stone or two on him.

The elf lowered his hand and seemed to perceive the sword aimed at his throat for the first time. He looked up at Alistair, eyebrows rising over a handsome face. There was something familiar in the tattoo the elf's face bore, but he couldn't quite place it.

"What in the Void did you do to them?" He blurted out after the elf blinked up at him blearily and raised his hands in surrender.

"A  _flash bomb_ ," Elissa said, and Alistair didn't have to turn toward her to tell that she was beaming. "Completely useless during the day, but at night or in an enclosed space the light it gives off is bright enough to temporarily blind someone." She drew in a breath after her quickly spoken explanation. "I  _am_ sorry for using one of your own tricks against you, Zev, but I suppose it only serves you right for trying to sneak up on us."

He risked a glance to his right to see Elissa standing in front of Zevran with her arms crossed, looking amused.

Zevran narrowed his eyes. "We weren't sneaking, my fair Warden. If we had been, you would not have detected us." He paused. "Especially as  _distracted_  as you were."

Elissa looked over at Alistair with a blushing smile that made his own face feel warm, but a second later her brow furrowed into a frown. "Why are you still pointing your sword at him?"

Alistair's eyes went wide. The elf in front of him wore chainmail that was scored with both scratches and a copious amount of blood. He held up his arms in a gesture of surrender, but his raised hands were also conveniently close to the giant, two-handed sword on his back. "Because! What if he's a Crow?"

He heard someone heave a huge sigh behind him and assumed it was Zevran.

"Crow, huh?" the tall elf said, one eyebrow screwing up in amusement, even as he raised his hands in surrender. "Haven't heard that one before." He looked off in the distance, a look of gleeful contemplation crossing his handsome face. " _Darrian the Crow._  I like the sound of that!"

"Don't be  _ridiculous_ ," Elissa scoffed. "He's no Crow.  _Obviously_."

At that, Alistair couldn't help turning back to Elissa with an incredulous expression. The one she bore was serene. Alistair let his sword down...partway. "Oh, is that so?"

"That man is Darrian Tabris." Elissa said, shooting a triumphant look at Zevran. She grinned at the elf knowingly as Zevran stepped closer to them. "And it turns out he  _helped_  you, didn't he? He was the man that killed all those bandits with you." That...did make sense, though how Elissa knew the man's name was beyond him. "I guess I was right after all, wasn't I?"

Alistair wasn't sure why Elissa seemed so jubilant over the elf's identity, but she seemed disappointed when Zevran didn't flinch from her teasing tone. Instead, Zevran fixed his amber gaze back on her and raised his eyebrows ever-so-slightly.

The expression was enough to make Elissa pause and stare at the assassin for a few seconds, and it seemed almost as if the two of them had a silent conversation.  _Lovely_. The thought left Alistair vaguely unsettled.

Elissa gave a little nod, and then turned back to the elf... _Tabris, she called him._  She frowned. "And why did you do that? What is it that you  _want?_ "

The elf's eyes went wide, the whites of them standing out in stark relief against the black mask tattoo that surrounded them. He licked his lips and took one small step backward. "Hey now, don't forget I  _helped_  you," he said, shooting Zevran a pleading look.

Zevran appeared unmoved. His arms crossed in front of him and the look he shot the other elf was cold and calculating. "Yes, a fact I did not question at the time for practical reasons. The bandits you helped me kill were a terrible inconvenience." He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "But now I find myself as curious as our fair Warden. What is it that you hope to gain from helping me?"

Tabris ran his hand through his short, spiky brown hair and it dawned on Alistair where he'd seen him. "The Wanted posters!" he practically shouted and turned to look at Elissa. "That's how you know his name. You saw it on the Wanted poster wall."

Elissa shot him a strained, patient smile. "Yes, Ali. That's Darrian Tabris." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "We've established that."

"Um, right," Alistair said, feeling chagrined. There still seemed to be a wealth of subtext to this whole encounter that he wasn't getting, but he didn't want to ask any more stupid questions. Still, a troubling thought occurred to him. "So he's a criminal then," he said, turning back to the elf and lifting his sword so that it pointed at his chin again.

Darrian's mouth twisted into a grin, though he kept his hands raised. "Well, you shouldn't believe everything you read on a Wanted poster you know. Besides, if I'm a criminal then so are you two...Elissa Cousland...the  _Grey Warden._ "

This time Alistair shared a grim look with both Elissa and Zevran. For once, they were all on the same page. "Speak," Elissa said, frowning up at the tall elf. "Quickly."

Darrian gave a quick nod. "I saw you-this morning. At the Wanted poster wall. I saw you take down my flier."

Elissa reached into the pack she wore against one hip. She pulled out a folded piece of parchment and unfolded it, making a show of letting everyone see it.

Darrian nodded at the flier. "Aye, that's the one." His face contorted suddenly into one of rage. "It's full of lies, you know."

"Of course," Elissa said, shrugging a shoulder. "It's completely fabricated." She brought the flier closer to her face and examined it. "Vaughan's appetites were well known. If I were to venture a guess, I'd say  _he_ was the one who kidnapped those poor elven women, and you went on your rampage to avenge them." The elf didn't meet her gaze when she looked up to peer at him, and her eyes went wide. "Of course," she said with a frown, turning to look at the flier in her hand again. "He… took someone you cared about." Her voice sounded unexpectedly thick.

Alistair could tell Elissa had got it right almost immediately. All the swagger went out of Darrian Tabris-his shoulders slumped and he bent his head, and it suddenly dawned on Alistair that the tall elf was really just a kid.

Kicking the dirt at his feet, Darrian gave a curt nod. "They took my cousin, and...and they took my wife."

The silence that settled after  _that_  was a tad uncomfortable. Elissa's face contorted into an even deeper frown as she stared down at the parchment in her hands. After taking a deep breath, she shook her head and then turned to shoot a quizzical look at Zevran. "He followed us?" she said, a challenging note in her tone.

At that, Alistair thought Zevran might have looked just a touch chagrined, but before Zevran could defend himself, Darrian piped up. "Well,  _I_ didn't follow you, but I have plenty of eyes and ears on the street willing to look out for me." At their surprised faces he gave a modest shrug. "The people here...they don't have it off much better than us elves in the alienage. And nobody really cares about them, either." He smirked and looked over his shoulder up at the buildings above them. "They appreciate having an elf like me around, let's say." He turned back to Elissa and raised an eyebrow. "I make myself... _useful_."

Elissa's eyes narrowed. "Go on," she said, gesturing with the hand that still held his wanted flier.

"So, yeah. I heard all about your day through my little vine of nobodies." Darrian's gaze traveled from Zevran to Alistair and then landed back on Elissa accompanied by an amused grin. "You've had one  _hell_ of a day."

Elissa tensed and shot a look at Zevran, who stared at the other elf with a steady frown. She turned back to Alistair and he saw that she was blushing furiously.  _Oh, right._ Elissa's day had included getting completely shitfaced drunk and puking all over herself, he remembered with a frown. He still had no idea what  _that_ was all about. He cocked his head to the side and shot Elissa an inquisitive look.

She didn't seem inclined to explain at that moment, either. "All of  _that_  is irrelevant. Obviously you do want  _something_  or else you wouldn't have appeared out of thin air to rescue Zevran." Zevran made a little noise in his throat at the word  _rescue_  but apparently thought better of correcting Elissa. "Tell us-why should we trust you?"

"Because...we're on the same side, I swear." Darrian swallowed, and took a deep breath. "You're an enemy to Loghain, and you're my only hope. I need your help." His gaze shot around to all three of them in turn. "Something's wrong with the alienage."

Elissa turned her head to the side and regarded Darrian out of the corners of her eyes. "The alienage is closed due to a plague."

Darrian shook his head. "I'm not even sure there  _is_  a plague!" he said, waving his arms in exasperation. "I just know that they closed it, and now I can't get any messages in or out of there." He looked up at Elissa with a pleading expression. "Please. This is all my fault. They raided the alienage after I...after what I did to Vaughan. My pa-, my father is still in there, and I don't even know if he's alright."

Alistair found himself lowering his sword. It was hard to see the kid as a threat any longer. Elissa's expression seemed to soften as well. She looked off into the distance, chewing her bottom lip for a few seconds. "I should have investigated the alienage when I first heard about it," she muttered.

Zevran stepped closer to Darrian. "What is it that you suspect?"

Darrian seemed to note the change in the disposition of his questioners, for he let his arms drop slowly. Seeing no resistance he relaxed visibly. "I don't know, exactly," he said. "I just...I've got the entrance to that place watched night and day and no one ever sees any elves leave...on their feet or on their backs." He shook his head. "And I ain't seen no burial fires burning neither."

Elissa's eyebrows rose and she gave a little nod. "Indeed. If it were a plague worthy of quarantine, where are its victims? And if there are no victims-?"

"Then why the quarantine? Exactly!" Darrian's voice brimmed with excitement. "Finally! Someone who will  _listen_." He licked his lips. "Please...I...I get the feeling you're about the only one who can or will help me. I've gotta know what's going on in there."

Alistair tried to catch Elissa's eye, but she stared down at the dirt, lost in thought. Her lips moved as if she was whispering something to herself, but he couldn't hear it. He shot a curious look to Zevran, but the elf was watching Darrian with a thoughtful frown.

With a sigh, Alistair sheathed his sword and then rubbed the back of his neck. "Alright, well...I think we all agree that it's a matter worth investigating, perhaps, but not now. We need to find our way out of the city." He looked over at Elissa for confirmation, but she still wasn't looking at anyone. Instead she stood there, slowly bringing up her hands to cover her face in what looked like a pantomime of a gesture of despair. "Elissa?"

She bent her head into her hands for a brief second, only to drop her hands an instant later and return his gaze. "No," she said, her mouth set into a grim line. "We can't wait. We have to investigate  _tonight_."

Alistair could see that she had  _that_ look in her eye. "Why? What is it?"

She frowned at him a few seconds before turning to Zevran and asking him in a quiet voice, "Have you ever been to Kirkwall?"

"What is she going on about?" Darrian asked, his voice cracking in disbelief.

Zevran waved his hand impatiently. "Quiet," he hissed, and then reached out to touch Elissa's shoulder. "Kirkwall...I haven't been there. What is it about the city that intrigues you?"

"Kirkwall is guarded by giant statues, put there ages ago by  _Tevinter_  slavers," she said. "They are called the Twins, and they stand like this." She put her hands over her face again, and bent her neck downward.

Darrian made a strangled noise in his throat. "Why is she giving us a lesson in  _geography_ right now?"

Alistair could sympathize, but Elissa didn't give him any time to explain. " _Because_ ," she snapped, turning to face him, one hand on her hip. "There were two ships in the harbor that had figureheads that bore a remarkable resemblance to those twin statues.  _Do you know what that means_?"

" _Brasca,_ " Zevran swore under his breath as Alistair felt the blood run out of his face. He finally realized what Elissa was insinuating.

The young Tabris however, was apparently too sheltered to catch on. His eyes darted around the three of them. "No! What does it mean? I don't know what it means!"

"Two  _Tevinter_  ships, and an alienage cut off from the rest of the city...it's far too suspicious." Elissa turned to face Alistair, and the moonlight revealed a pinched and miserable expression. She spared a glance for the two elves before moving closer to him. "You understand don't you?" She peered searchingly up at him. "If we … if we go back to camp tonight and come back tomorrow to find them all gone ...I could never live with myself."

It filled Alistair's chest with warmth both to see that Elissa assumed he'd managed to keep up with her unspoken conclusion (for once)  _and_ to see that she cared so much about helping people that she'd never even met. To think, at one point he'd thought her cold and calculating. Still, it all seemed so unbelievable. "Do you really think Loghain would stoop to this?"

Zevran gave an indecorous snort and Elissa turned to face him. He arched an eyebrow. "From what I have seen there is little that Loghain is incapable of doing."

" _Alright,_ " Darrian screeched. "Will somebody please tell me what is going on?"

Elissa's face softened once again as she looked up at Darrian. "I'm afraid...I'm afraid Loghain is selling off alienage elves to Tevinter slavers."

Darrian's jaw dropped and he stared at Elissa in silent horror for a few seconds. "No," he finally managed. "That can't be true."

"Indeed it appears to be," Zevran said. He gestured with his head at Elissa and Alistair. "I can think of no previous occasion in which the three of us have ever been in such accord." His smile turned grim. "Let us go confirm this miraculous event, shall we?"

Darrian stood there frozen, gaping at the three of them as the shock of the news sunk in. "Yeah," he said at last, rubbing a hand over his face. "Yeah, okay. I...I think I can get you all in." He nodded at Alistair. "Assuming Ser Points His Sword A Lot is a decent enough climber."

There was no way he'd sit this mission out. "Alistair," he offered and after a beat he extended his hand. "Grey Warden and fellow criminal."

Darrian stared at the hand for one skeptical beat before giving a small shrug and clasping it briefly and firmly. He turned to Elissa and inclined his head. "Thank you, Elissa," he said. "I … I wouldn't have the guts to go back there myself, but if you're right…" His face blanched and he trailed off.

Elissa gave a crisp nod. "We are," she said firmly. "But don't worry. We'll stop them." Her eyes narrowed and she clenched a fist in front of her. "Loghain  _won't_ get away with this."

Darrian stared at Elissa with wide eyes. "You know with the way you talk, I actually believe you." He grinned down at her. "You are literally  _nothing_  like I would have expected." He shot Zevran a  _look_  before turning to Alistair and raising his eyebrows. Finally his gaze landed back on Elissa. "Anyway, I'm...uh...glad you can fit me in what with everything  _you've_ got going on right now."

Elissa looked at her feet and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "Um, right," she said, before looking up at Alistair and biting her bottom lip. "I think...I think we should have a word before we depart."

Alistair's eyes went wide at the request, and he felt an unsteady dread settle in his chest. "Um...sure," he said, glancing over at the elves. Darrian was staring at the two of them in open amusement.

"Come,  _Darrian the Crow_ ," Zevran said in a mocking tone. "Let us give our Warden friends some privacy." He gestured and then the two elves moved down the passage by the channel to stand at the foot of a stone staircase that led back up to the docks district.

"What is it?"

Elissa stared up at him for a few seconds, before taking a deep breath. "Well, really it's  _nothing_ I would have thought significant enough to share, ordinarily. It's hardly relevant or important," she said, shrugging one shoulder. She shifted her weight to her other foot and rubbed the back of her neck. "But then I thought...perhaps a person might read more into my  _not_  sharing the fact than is warranted? A person might ascribe some significance to the action when really...there is  _none._ " She looked up at him with a pleading expression.

He screwed up one eyebrow. "I'm sorry...what now? Is there something you want to tell me?"

"No! I mean, yes. I mean, I don't  _want_  to….I don't particularly think it's relevant or meaningful, like I said, but then I think…" She twisted her hands together in front of her, and kept her eyes on the ground between their feet. "Then I think perhaps my instincts in this arena are  _not_  the best, and perhaps I should endeavor to do what my  _mother_ would advise." She looked up at Alistair with a wince then. "She always said that openness and honesty were important."

It was just another surreal part of his day, he thought, as he watched Elissa stammer and fluster in front of him. That she could be this nervous about revealing something to him made him a little nervous, but mostly he was touched at the vulnerability she was willing to display. He reached out and brushed her cheek with his fingers. "Just tell me, 'Liss. I'm sure it's not a big deal."

She stared up at him, holding her breath for the span of a few heartbeats. "I kissed Zevran."

He froze, eyes going wide as his brain raced away from the fact.  _No_. He refused to believe it. He let his arm drop to his side and gaped at her. " _What_?"

"I knew I shouldn't have said anything." She winced up at him. "You're angry aren't you?"

"I…" His mouth gaped open, but he was unable to fill it with any words. He looked over her head to see the silhouettes of the two elves lurking about twenty feet away. "I'll kill him."

Elissa shook her head. "No!  _He_  didn't do anything! In fact, he pushed me away and said I'd regret what I was doing when I was sober. Don't blame him." She swallowed and looked up at him with brows knit together. "Blame me."

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, and then opened them and looked down at Elissa with frown. "Why did you do it?"

She licked her lips. "It just sort of happened! I was...I was inebriated, as I told you before...and...and keep in mind that as far as I knew you wanted nothing to do with me anymore! You told me that you and I weren't a good idea-"

He shook his head. "You said that too-"

"But, you said it first!" After the words were out she blushed and ducked her head. " _Maker_ , I sound so immature." She looked up at Alistair with another wince. "I told you I was bad at this." The burning ball of jealousy that had settled in his gut lessened a little at her nervous candor. She took a half step toward him, still twining her hands together in front of her. "Please don't be angry with me."

"I'm  _not_ ….I'm not angry," he repeated, looking down at Elissa helplessly. "I'm just...I…" He took another deep breath. He wanted to believe her; he didn't want to let his jealousy get in the way of things with her yet again. "Do you still think that? That we're… not a good idea?"

That was all that really mattered, wasn't it? He held his breath as he waited for Elissa's answer. She put one hand on the middle of his chest. Looking up at him under dark lashes, she said with a little smile, "This feels more real than just an idea now, doesn't it?"

He blinked down at her for a few seconds before a grin slowly broke over his face. "That it does," he said lowly, and bent down to capture her lips in a brief kiss. The contact melted away the last of his bitter jealousy. He pulled away and then glanced over at the elves with a sudden start. "You know...they're elves." He raised an eyebrow at Elissa. "They can probably hear everything we're saying."

"I know," she said, not taking his eyes off of him. She gave a little shrug. "I'm not hiding anything. And now  _you_ know that  _he_ knows that I…" Her mouth hung open for a few seconds and she averted her eyes to look at her hand on his chest. "That I  _prefer_  you."

It was hardly the declaration of emotion poets wrote about, but it filled his chest with warmth even still. He grinned down at her and put his hand over hers. "Well I  _prefer_  you, too."

She smiled up at him for a few moments before she gave a little cough and stepped backward. "I'm glad that's settled." She looked over at the elves and then back at Alistair. "Shall we get going?"

"Lead on, boss," he said, following Elissa into the night, feeling lighter than he probably had any right to, given what they could be facing if they even managed to sneak into the alienage without detection.

 _Maker_ , being with Elissa was a bit like navigating a choppy river of rapids, Alistair thought. But it beat not even being in the boat.

As they drew up with the elves Elissa sidled up to Darrian and started rummaging through her pack. "I have some potions that you should have on you, in case anything happens," she told him.

Alistair stole a glance at Zevran. The assassin kept his eyes trained on the pair in front of him as they walked, but there was a knowing smirk on his face. "It appears congratulations are in order."

Alistair tried not to appear  _too_  jubilant. "So you heard," he said, glancing again at Zevran out of the corner of his eye. "She  _prefers_  me," he couldn't help adding, feeling his chest swell. It wasn't  _too_ terrible of him to enjoy this moment, was it?

"Indeed," Zevran said, his lips still twisted into a smirk. "It appears you have captured the Warden's attention." He glanced up at Alistair and raised one golden eyebrow. "For the moment."

Alistair rolled his eyes, but he wasn't going to let Zevran get to him. He felt too happy not to be magnanimous. "Er, right. Whatever. Anyway, I… wanted to thank you. For not … I mean… for not...you know...being a creep." That probably could have come out better.

Zevran's eyebrow remained raised. "Such flattery will get you nowhere, dear Warden," said drily.

Alistair gave a grunt of frustration. "You know what I mean."

"Yes, you're thankful I'm not a rapist. I'm truly overcome by your high opinion of me."

Alistair sighed. It was a lost cause anyway. "Look, you don't have to like me-"

"So generous!" Zevran said in a mocking tone. "Now you even permit me to dislike you. Truly, I am blessed with your association." He stopped and gave Alistair a mocking bow.

Alistair threw up his hands in disgust. "Fine! Have it your way-be a spiteful git for all I care. I just…" He stopped then, and looked pointedly at Elissa. "I just want you to know... _Elissa_  trusts you. So that means….that means I do too, I guess." He frowned down at the elf, whose expression had turned more thoughtful than mocking. "Until you give me a reason not to. Again."

Zevran regarded him with a shuttered gaze for a few seconds, before giving a nonchalant shrug. "That is...a fair enough arrangement, I suppose."

"Great," Alistair said, with forced cheerfulness. "We understand each other, then."

"Indeed."

They fell silent as they followed Elissa and Darrian into the darkness of the city, and Alistair tried to convince himself that the conversation had done  _some_  good. He told himself he didn't really care what Zevran thought. The important thing was that he'd tried. For whatever reason, Elissa seemed to trust the elf, and though he didn't, he trusted Elissa.

That would have to be good enough, for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: Apologies, dear readers, for my lack of updating. Life has been unexpectedly full lately, and its been harder to keep to a consistent publishing schedule. Rest assured that my interest in writing this story hasn't waned at all. I am pretty much always thinking about Poison and Wine, even when my updating isn't consistent. Thank you for your patience, and thanks for sticking with me.
> 
> Special thanks to Riptide Monzarc and gingergen for looking over my work and making it so much better with thoughtful commentary and suggestions.


	37. Mess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zevran and Solona try to come to terms with recent circumstances and choices.

_All alone as I've learned to be  
_ _In this mess I have made  
_ _—Mess,_ Ben Folds Five

"So I'm watching Alistair wail on good old Ser Satisfaction, and that's when it hits me: he's not worried that I'll die from the Joining—he's worried I'll  _chicken out_." Solona stopped her pacing of the gazebo floor and stared unseeing out at the conjured meadow. Alistair's face…she'd never seen him look so  _angry_. It sent a sliver of ice into her gut to think of being on the other end of his sword. "He figures…I'll have too much time to think about it, and so when the time actually comes he thinks I won't be able to." She turned to look at Aurelian, who was still sitting on the bench with one arm draped over the back of it. Her face contorted into a deep frown. "And he was fucking right wasn't he? I mean, I pretty much just proved him right by running!"

She covered her face with her hands, bitterly wishing she would have spent the day moping around camp instead of getting into trouble with Alistair. How could she have been so stupid?

Aurelian sighed and then Solona heard his soft footsteps and felt his hand on her arm. "There,  _there_ , Solona. Don't be so hard on yourself. You did what you had to do. No one could blame you for running."

She peeked up at him from behind her hands. Maker, Aurelian was  _tall._ He beamed down at her affectionately. "Ya think?" she said, voice rising to a pitch that made her wince.

"Of course!" Aurelian gave her arm a little squeeze and then let go so he could cross his arms in front of him and look down at her. "You  _cannot_ risk taking the Joining—I won't  _hear_  of it. It's far too dangerous. You simply  _had_  to get away from them."

Solona twisted her hands together. "I don't know. I think maybe I overreacted. Because now what am I going to do? I don't know anyone else. They were the only friends I've had since…" She trailed off, not wanting to think of Neria and Jowan. But then, her eyes went wide. "Jowan! Fuck! I totally forgot about Jowan! Fuck! Shit! Shit shit shit."

Once again, Aurelian reached out to touch her arm. "Calm yourself. Please—what does  _he_  have to do with any of this?"

"Elissa! She was going to let Isolde have him executed. But if I'm gone, he's fucked! That stupid Orlesian bitch will have him killed and Elissa won't lift a finger to stop it."

"Slow down and explain. Why does she want Jowan executed? And how is this  _your_  fault?"

Right. She'd only glossed over the events at Redcliffe when she explained her current predicament. "It's kind of a long story but…" She took a deep breath and then let it out. "So, I told you that Elissa needed my help to rescue this kid in the Fade, right? Well, the whole reason we had to do that turned out to be Jowan. He managed to get himself in a shit ton of trouble and the gist of it is that he agreed to poison this noble to get out of it. But that just sparked a bunch of craziness in Redcliffe and at the end if it all they wanted to execute him for it." She frowned, remembering how cold Elissa had been about taking Jowan's life. The memory made her insides twist. "I had to agree to do Elissa a favor to get him off the hook."

"A favor?" Aurelian said, mahogany brows climbing his forehead.

"Yeah, a favor. As in, anything I'm capable of, ability-wise." Aurelian's eyebrows remained fixed high up on his forehead, eliciting an exasperated shrug out of her. "It was the only thing I could think of to stop her! Don't think I don't appreciate the irony."

"I'm merely surprised, Solona. The last time we spoke you were quite clear about your distaste for certain aspects of our shared…talents."

Solona threw up her hands and made an inarticulate growl. "Well, can you fucking blame me? After what I did to Neria—"

"You overestimate your abilities, my dear. As I told you then, you're simply not skilled enough in dream walking to be able to accomplish a true change in your victim's mind."

Her mouth went dry at the casual way Aurelian spoke about fucking with someone's mind, but she shook her head, not wanting to have this argument again with him. "Right, she was on the fence about me and I pushed her over the edge. I get it." She waved a hand. "It's not important."

At least, she hoped it didn't turn out to be. She didn't know just how much Elissa expected from her for this little "favor"...or if she could truly deliver.

But it didn't matter, because doing this favor for Elissa was the only thing keeping Jowan alive. She shook her head again, feeling panic start to edge its way back into her throat. "I have to go back. I have to go back to them."

"Solona, breathe." Strong hands gripped her shoulders and she found herself staring up at the magister's yellow-eyed gaze. "Think for a moment. If you go back there, you'll just find yourself in danger 'll eventually have to do the Joining or  _die._ " He rubbed the top of her arm and gave a little wince. "I know Jowan is your friend, but do you really wish to die for  _his_ mistake?"

It was her turn to wince.  _When you put it like that…_  "But, I can't just abandon him. Not…not again." She frowned up at Aurelian. "I just  _can't_."

Aurelian gave a deep sigh, and then let go of her and brought his hand to his face to rub his chin. It was a little funny to her now, how odd she thought he looked when they first met. His hairline was either shaved or plucked into two unnatural V's, giving him the appearance of having horns, and though his beard was trimmed into a more conventional looking shape, it was meticulously groomed and sometimes Solona even thought…scented. He had seemed so foreign, so sophisticated and mysterious—and yet he still took time to talk to her and help her, and had never asked her for anything in return.

She was fortunate to have met him.

"You know, if you weren't so opposed to using your special talents, we could make this whole problem go away for you," the magister said, one eyebrow raised in gentle reproach.

Of course, lucky as she was, they did still hold some wildly different opinions about their abilities. To Aurelian, they were blessed. To Solona, it felt more like a curse. She gave a sigh that came from somewhere bone-deep inside of her. "I'm not going to fuck with anyone's head."

Magister Aurelian's traced the line of his mustache with his thumb and forefinger. His hands looked soft and his nails were all neat and trimmed. "No, no, of course," he muttered. "You won't."

Something in Solona's chest tightened. "Yeah, well, no one can, actually. I taught both him and Elissa the Litany of Adralla."

The lie flew out of her lips automatically. She had tried to get the big stupid lug to memorize the litany, but every time she tested him on it, he failed to recite it properly.  _"Yeah, I know," he would sigh in exasperation. "It's not for lack of trying, Solona. I just…I just have a lot on my mind right now, alright?"_

She turned to stare out at the meadow again, hoping Aurelian wasn't somehow aware of how rapidly her heart was beating. Aurelian had to believe her. She was angry and scared about what Alistair had said (or more precisely, what he  _didn't_  say) but that didn't mean he deserved to have Aurelian go traipsing around inside his head. Especially not on her account…she'd never forgive herself if she let that happen. "The two of them are immune to dream walking," she finished with a shrug.

Aurelian's sigh of exasperation made the knot in her chest loosen. "Why in the Void would you  _do_ that?"

He believed her—he couldn't tell that she was lying. Aurelian had  _told_  her that dreamers were immune to others dreamers' abilities, and he'd never given her any reason to doubt that, but still…it was relief to discover she could still keep things from him, if she needed to.

It wasn't that she didn't  _trust_  Aurelian. It was just that…he came from a different culture—his values were foreign and sometimes even a little cruel, but Solona had told herself he was just a product of his environment. She could overlook a few of his faults for the benefits of having him as a friend. "I had to!" she insisted, turning to look up at Aurelian in despair. "They would never trust me if I didn't teach 'em it. It was the only way they'd take me along."

He rolled his eyes. "You know it makes it  _very_  difficult to help you when you so effectively manage to limit yourself."

Solona rubbed her hand to her forehead to cover her relief. "Yeah, yeah, I know. I suck." She exhaled loudly. "In any case, I gotta go back. I'll…I'll figure out something to tell Alistair." Surely he'd give her a chance to explain, wouldn't he? She bit her lip-another worry added to the pile. But she could come up with  _something_  to justify her sudden absence. Lying was the one thing she'd always been really good at.

Aurelian shook his head, but there was a smile on his lips. "If you insist, I won't dissuade you." He reached out then, and set his hands on her shoulders. " _However_ , let me offer you this alternative."

She waited, unconsciously holding her breath. Solona had had no real idea just precisely  _how_ Aurelian was going to help her out of her current predicament when she sought him in the Fade. She just knew that he was powerful and a friend…and until just a few moments ago, the only person she'd ever been completely honest with. She winced at the thought, but tried to turn it into a thoughtful frown.

She owed it to herself to see what he had to offer in terms of help, didn't she? "I'm listening."

"Well," he said, taking his hands off her shoulders and rubbing them together. "It just so happens that there's a colleague of mine staying in your fair capital city. A fellow magister, in fact," he said, and then shot her a sly grin. "A fellow magister with a  _ship_ , Solona. Coming all the way back to Tevinter quite soon."

Her mouth formed into a little 'o' of its own accord.  _Tevinter_. Where mages lived as free people. Where Templars didn't threaten anyone.  _Where mages_ ruled…

Aurelian had talked about Solona coming to Tevinter before, but she'd never imagined it actually  _happening_. As a child, Tevinter had been something of a far-off fantasy land—a place to dream idly about. Before she met Aurelian, it had been easier to picture it as a kind of mage-ruled utopia. But though she tried not to judge him for his dabbling in so-called illegal magic, the idea of going to place where things like blood magic and demon summoning were mundane gave her pause.

It was hard enough to leave the Tower for the bannorn of Ferelden. Tevinter seemed far too alien; she couldn't  _possibly_ make it there. "I…I don't know."

Her hesitation made his smile grow. "I know it's a big change to consider," he said in voice rich with reassurance. "All I ask is that you  _think_ about it. If you want, you can leave that quaint little country of yours and come to a place where your freedom will never again be threatened by an overzealous Chantry."

The thought struck an aching chord in her chest—she  _did_  want that kind of existence, that kind of… _security…_ more than she'd ever wanted anything. Even in the Wardens, she still felt uneasy. She was only free by Elissa's good graces and Alistair had made his position clear as far as  _he_ felt. It was hard not to agree.

But then, of course, there was Jowan. Solona shook her head. "And leave Jowan to die? No…I'm afraid I can't do that."

Aurelian lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Just  _think_  about it, is all I ask. You should be able to find Caladrius in the elven alienage. Tell him I sent you, and he'll take care of you."

What was he doing in the elven alienage? It didn't matter. She couldn't in good conscience abandon Jowan without a word.  _Or Leliana,_  she thought with a sudden pang. The young and pretty bard, more than anyone else, had gone out of her way to help ease Solona into life outside the tower. While the others found her inexperience amusing, Leliana had never once laughed at her, and she was always ready with an explanation for new experiences that left Solona's mind reeling (like waking up in the middle of the night to an awful and otherworldly cacophony outside, convinced that some dark magic was assaulting them from all around, only to have Leliana calmly explain that the noise was a perfectly natural phenomenon. It was a buncha bugs— _cicadas_ , she had called them.  _Maker,_ she had been so embarrassed, but Leliana had been so kind…)

She shook her head. "I appreciate the thought, Aurelian, I really do. But I just…I just  _can't._ "

Aurelian smiled down at her with an expression Solona could only describe as fatherly _,_ or at least, what she thought fatherly might look like. "Fair enough." He clasped his hands together. "If you change your mind—and I don't think you have too many days to think about it—just seek him out in the elven alienage and tell him Aurelian sent you."

_I can't just leave._ And yet, knowing she still had the option for a few more days at least helped ease her smiled up at him, overcome with gratitude. "Thank you, Aurelian," she said, and offered up a crooked grin. "I've missed our little talks."

Aurelian shrugged. "I've done nothing, my dear. And I've missed you too! I want you to check back in with me as soon as you can, alright?" At her nod, he smiled and once again reached out and squeezed her shoulders. "Now, shall I save you some mana and send you back?"

Solona nodded again, and a few dizzy seconds later found herself back in the dingy warehouse by the docks. She stretched out her legs and tiny pinpricks of pain ran up and down them. It was dark—really,  _really_ dark. She had no idea what time it was.

She got to her feet and brushed off her robes and took a steadying breath before making her way to the stairs. She hoped she could find her way back to their camp all by herself. And, she hoped she could think of a good reason for her absence. She stopped herself from hoping that the Wardens would believe her. That was beyond her control.

_Beyond my control_ , she repeated to herself, as she took the first step down rickety, dusty stairs.  _And beyond Aurelian's, too_. She was still a little surprised at how protective she had felt toward Alistair, after all that had happened. But, Elissa and him...they rescued her from the Circle...they gave her a new life when she thought hers was pretty much over.

They were her friends, too, weren't they?

She hoped their friendship wouldn't wind up being yet another one to bite her in the ass. But what could she do? She needed them to keep Jowan safe. Jowan was more than just a friend. He was family. She couldn't just leave him to die.

With a grumble she opened the warehouse door and entered the gloomy Denerim night, hopeful that she could find her way back to the camp, alone and in the dark.

* * *

For the better part of their eventful day in the city, the sky had bloomed a bright and cloudless blue above them. Now, the sky that hung over Denerim was a dark and gloomy one. A low-hanging haze had wafted in from the ocean just after sunset and the fog had mingled with the smoke from so many evening cook fires to provide a dense and murky barrier between Zevran and the twinkling stars he knew remained overhead.

_Stars that are not so different from the ones that shine over Antiva,_ Zevran thought with a small pang.  _Cold and distant as ever._

He could never imagine such gloom in the glittering jewel that was Antiva's capitol: Antiva City. There, the streets shone with lamplight between dusk and dawn, save for the ones conveniently put out by assassins, naturally. Gloom and darkness were carefully manufactured and precisely delivered weapons in Antiva.

Here, gloom was simply a way of life. It was a little depressing.

As they grew closer to the alienage it was fortunate that more buildings sported lit torches—otherwise the humans would have been stumbling around in the dark for sure. As it was, they made entirely too much noise as Darrian lead them to their destination. Darrian and Elissa walked some five feet in front of he and Alistair, and all of their footsteps sounded clodding and loud in his professional opinion.

The tall elf gestured to his left and they turned down another darkened street. It was empty, like most of the others had been. Zevran wasn't surprised—after Darrian had shown up the two of them managed to confront and kill at least two dozen bandits. His kills had been quiet, but Darrian's had  _not_. Darrian's shouting and the screams of the dying had driven the local populace indoors, it seemed.

He massaged his neck with his hand and turned his gaze skyward once again, looking in vain for those cold, distant stars. He should have felt more tired, he decided. Though his muscles ached faintly, his body wasn't weighed down with exhaustion like it might have been.

Truthfully, hunting and slaughtering the bandits had invigorated him. He managed to lose himself in his craft, leading his enemies on a merry chase through the city, only to pop out from an unexpected hiding place and deliver a quick death to whatever unfortunate soul was closest to him. Each time he had escaped back into the shadows only to attack again at the next opportune moment. It was a game, a fun one, and one he knew how to play well.

The killing had a point. A purpose, even. But once he began he lost himself in each kill, preferring the mindless lust of battle to the turn his thoughts would surely take when he was forced to stop moving.

And then, Darrian had appeared, and made the killing all too easy. It had lost some of its charm at that point—with the young elf mutilating everything in his path there was little for Zevran to do.

Only then did it occur to him to worry about the safety of his protege. His chest had tightened at the idea that he might not find her whole and well at the end of all this.

But then, of course, he  _had_ found her—safe and sound and quite flagrantly ignoring the honest advice he'd given her.

"So, should we interfere or what?"

Zevran's head snapped up to look at Alistair in confusion. He'd been lost in his own thoughts for once and had no idea what the ex-Templar was referring to. He cast his gaze toward the pair in front of him, who Alistair nodded at with a grimace.

"Oh, um, right," Darrian was saying, rubbing his neck. He sounded embarrassed. "Yeah."

It was obviously the response to some query of Elissa's, but Zevran hadn't heard. He frowned to himself. It was unlike him to be so unobservant.

Even in the dim light he could see Elissa's eyebrow shoot upward when she turned her face toward the tall elf. "Well," she huffed, seeming unsatisfied with his response. "For one thing wouldn't daggers be more easily concealed?"

"Um, yeah I guess so," Darrian said. "Er…my…uh, lady."

"And weapons are explicitly forbidden in elven alienages, aren't they? They certainly are in Highever's," Elissa pressed on, oblivious to the elf's discomfort. "So how did you manage to learn with such a large and noticeable weapon?"

Alistair shot Zevran a look, eyes wide and eyebrows raised as if to say " _see?"_  And Zevran did, of course. Poor Darrian was becoming accustomed with Elissa's unique sort of inquisitive "charm."

He shot an eyebrow upward in return at Alistair and whispered, "You worry too much, like a mother hen." Alistair scowled and Zevran rolled his eyes. "Do not coddle her so. She does not need you to  _swoop_  in and save her from every awkward situation."

At that Alistair's mouth opened and closed and then he looked off to the side for a few seconds, before turning back and muttering, "it's not  _her_  I'm worried about." Zevran cocked an eyebrow up in question and Alistair shrugged. "You know how it is," he said under his breath. "First it's all kinds of awkward and funny, and right when you're deciding whether you want to laugh or get pissed, she hits you with it." Alistair snapped his fingers and then made a fist and smacked it with his other hand. "Bam! Your big secret, all laid out in front of you, whether you like it or not."

At that, Darrian looked back at them and it was clear that he'd heard every word Alistair said. His eyes went wide and then he turned to look at Elissa with a look so comically wary Zevran normally would have had to fight the urge to laugh.

He did not find it all that funny at the moment.

" _Mistakes?" Elissa said, pride lighting a fire in her eyes. "As in, more than once?" Her knowing grin made Zevran's insides twist. She gave a little shake of her head. "I don't think so. More like_ mistake _, am I right?"_

Zevran could not keep from scowling at the memory.  _Better him than me,_  a part of him wanted to spit out. Instead he took a few seconds to school his face into a proper smirk. "You don't think everyone deserves a turn?" For once, he meant no innuendo (he was growing out of practice, spending so much time with a woman on whom innuendo was so spectacularly wasted) so the angry flush that overtook Alistair's face was pure serendipity.

Alistair opened his mouth and then snapped it closed and shook his head. "Just sayin' we could at least  _warn_  him."

Zevran didn't wish to discuss the topic any longer, nor did he feel a great need to intercede. He considered needling Alistair about his sudden concern for Darrian's welfare, but in truth, he did not feel much like talking at all. He fell silent, and Alistair did too.

"I've never been to an alienage before," Elissa went on. "We had an alienage in Highever, but my parents forbade me from visiting it."

"Really."

The flatness in Darrian's tone did not dissuade her. "Indeed," she said, and then waved a hand. "It was a ridiculous precaution. As I said, elves weren't allowed weapons and it is not like I ever went anywhere unaccompanied when I left my castle."

"Castle?" Darrian's voice cracked on the word.

"Er, yes," Elissa said, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "I'm the daughter of a teyrn. I never traveled anywhere alone. I  _always_  had a guard with me." She shook her head. "Whether I wanted one or not."

"Yeah, sounds like a rough life," Darrian said, turning his head away.

His Warden failed to recognize the sarcasm dripping from Darrian's tone. "Oh, it wasn't a rough life at  _all_. In fact, I lived a life of almost unparalleled ease, I've come to discover."

Apparently Alistair could remain silent no longer. " _Hey_ ," he said, drawing out the word as he took a few rapid steps to catch up to Elissa and Darrian. "We've got to be uh…getting pretty close to that alienage by now, eh?"

Darrian gave what sounded to Zevran like an enormous sigh of a relief. "As a matter of fact it's just up here." He gestured to the gloom in front of them. "We should, uh, probably be quiet for this next part."

They walked to the end of a short alley in silence. When they got to the large wooden wall, Darrian put his ear to it. After a few seconds, he turned back to the rest of them. "I don't hear anything," he whispered. "We should be safe to go up and over." He gestured with his chin to the building to his right, that jutted up against the wall. "We just scurry up over that and we're in."

"Alright, I'll keep watch," Elissa whispered, and then retreated down the alley a little bit away from them.

Darrian walked up to the building and then turned, squatted and laced his hands together. "Alright, big guy, up you go."

Alistair looked at the elf's hands and then back down the alley toward Elissa with a little frown. "You first."

Darrian stood and shot Zevran a wary look. "Um, right and then how would you get up?"

"Huh?"

"Weeeell, me and Zev are naturally spry and all that. I can climb this building no problem, without a boost." He shot an eyebrow upward. "Can you?"

Alistair hesitated, glancing down the alleyway again, and Zevran realized what the issue was: in spite of any professed 'understanding', the big Warden did not relish the idea of leaving Elissa alone with the two elves.

Zevran made a  _tsk_ noise and Alistair turned back to look at him, still frowning with worry. He caught Zevran's gaze, however, and had the grace to look chagrined. "Er, right. That, uh…that makes sense."

With one last glance backward, Alistair gave a deep sigh, and then settled his hands awkwardly on Darrian's shoulders, before stepping down with one foot on the elf's hands.

"Count of three," Darrian huffed. "One, two,  _three._ "

On three, Darrian put all his wiry strength into hefting Alistair up as high as he could, while Alistair tried to jump and then scrabble his way over and on to the roof.  _Thank goodness he is not wearing plate,_ was all Zevran could think, as he listened to the racket Alistair made while he scrambled for purchase along the side of the building.

Darrian still supported much of Alistair's weight and he huffed under the strain of propping up the much larger human by his foot. Finally, with a loud heave and groan Alistair managed to haul himself on to the roof. Zevran heard a  _thump_ and then Alistair groaned again.

Zevran and Darrian shared a look and the younger elf gave a snort of a laugh. Then he brushed his hands off on his trousers and jogged back a little to give himself a running start. He bolted down the alley and jumped, catching his hands on the edge of the roof with with his impressive leap, before swinging himself upward and over in one graceful motion.

"Crap. You make that look so easy," Zevran heard Alistair mutter before footsteps made him turn around.

It was, of course, Elissa.

_Brasca._  He did not want to be alone with her.

"Zevran—"

He mimicked Darrian's pose from earlier, and linked his hands together. "Come along now, little dove," he said, before she could get out another word. "It is time for you to fly."

Elissa put a hand on his shoulder, but she did not lift her foot into his hands. "Zevran," she repeated in a low tone. "We need to speak."

He closed his eyes and breathed through his nose for a few heartbeats. "Now? Perhaps it is not the best of times to indulge in idle conversation," he said lightly. When she still made no move to put her foot in his hands he stood and regarded her warily.

She moved her hand off his shoulder and crossed her arms in front of her chest. Not meeting his gaze, she whispered. "It is not idle conversation. We need to talk."

He went still for the span of two heartbeats, before shooting her lascivious grin. "Is this about how you  _probably_  won't be joining me in my tent tonight? If so, I assure you again—there are no hard feelings." It was the truth, for all the good that it would do. He gave a little shrug. "And perhaps you may change your mind in the future, no?"

She looked at him steadily and it was clear his flirting had no effect. "I know what you did," she said quietly.

It took a few seconds for her meaning to sink in, but when it did Zevran went completely still and could only stand there, paralyzed.

" _What in the Void is taking so long?"_

Alistair's hissing voice startled both of them into looking upward. The fog had dissipated somewhat—enough to see Alistair's silhouette from the roof of the building they were meant to be climbing.

Elissa gave a frustrated sigh. "Just a second!" she hissed back. "Just…just give me a  _second,_  would you?"

"Alright. But hurry up!" Alistair retreated back away from the edge of the roof with a noisy sigh.

Elissa turned back to Zevran and then took a deep breath. "Where was I? Oh yeah…I…know what you did." She hesitated, and then shook her head and went on. "I mean…I  _think_  I do. I have…I have a  _theory._ " She jutted out her chin and narrowed her eyes. "Care to hear it?"

His heart was beating wildly in his chest and his mouth was empty of words for once. He tried to keep a neutral expression but… he felt wildly out of control, like the world was spinning too fast for him to hold on to… "No," he said firmly, and his eyebrows knit together of their own accord as he stood there frowning at her. "I do not wish to hear your theory."

"I…uh… _oh_ ," Elissa stammered, one hand fluttering to her head to smooth her hair. Clearly, she did not expect his answer. There was a small, odd part of him that felt guilty to see how deflated she looked. But, it could not be helped.

He…he would not speak of it with her. Not now… He didn't answer, and simply stood there, waiting for whatever it was she would do next with his heart in his throat.

After a few seconds she huffed noisily. "Well! That's um…understandable. I mean…I'd be a  _hypocrite_  to not…to not understand that…" She drifted off, at the end of the sentence and they stood there, staring at each other in a moment that stretched on uncomfortably.

_Could she really know_? Zevran couldn't help wondering, now. If she did… _well._ She would have even less use for him, then, wouldn't she?

Unable to bear the wait any longer, Zevran shrugged a shoulder exaggeratedly, making a wide gesture with one hand. "Now, perhaps we should move on before your little scheme to make Alistair jealous backfires and he suffers an apoplexy up on the roof."

He heard her sharp intake of breath at that. "That's  _not_  what I'm doing."

Zevran held up his hands to proclaim his innocence. "Darling Warden, do not misunderstand me," he purred, before moving to stand right in front of her. "I did not say that I minded." He brought one hand up and wound a stray golden lock of her hair around his index finger before grazing her cheek with his thumb and leaning forward. He brought his face very close to hers, and whispered, "I said you could use me  _however_  you deemed fit, did I not?"

Elissa's eyes went as wide as he had ever seen them, and he could  _feel_  the heat emanating from the blush on her cheeks. "I…I…" She bit her lip and looked away.

He enjoyed the fluster he'd apparently caused for a few seconds, but when she did not dissolve into a stammering, blushing mess but instead looked at her feet with a thoughtful frown he wondered if he hadn't overplayed his hand…

She finally looked up at him again and there was no trace of fluster in her expression. She took a deep breath and held it for a few seconds, before saying, "I just want to make sure that we're still  _friends_."

That wasn't expected.

He snatched his hand away from her and took an involuntary half step backwards. "Friends?" he said, turning his head to the side and regarding her out of the corners of his eyes.

Elissa licked her lips. "Er…yes? I mean…we are friends, aren't we?"

_Were they?_ He stared at her for a few seconds, more than a little surprised at the emotion her question stirred in him. A friend…it was an interesting proposition, was it not? But what did he know of friendship? "I do not know," he found himself answering.

"Oh," Elissa said, bringing her hands in front of them and twisting them together. "I…um…well. I'd…like it. If we were, I mean." She frowned and looked up at him with an expression that put an odd ache in his chest.

"Indeed? Hmm." He blinked at her for a few seconds, before giving her a little smile, and finally saying, "I would be glad to call myself such, come to think of it." He said the words lightly, but they were all true.

Her face lit up with a smile. "That's…that's  _good._  I am glad that we are alright."

"Of course,  _mi amiga,_ " he said, before gesturing to the roof. "Now, we should move on, no?"

"Right, of course. Oh, but wait." She put a hand on his shoulder and leaned in to whisper, "Do you think that you could…you know…just…keep it to yourself…about…about Alistair and I?"

He fancied he could  _hear_ her blushing, though he couldn't quite tell in the dark. "You do not wish for the others to know that you two are...ah... _canoodling_?"

"I just…I just think it'd be easier without attracting undue attention, is all," she said in a hushed whisper. "Can I trust you to be discreet?"

"Of course you can," he said, and a sudden impulse had him lean in and say in a sultry whisper, "I'll behave as if your relationship doesn't even exist."

"Exactly!" she said brightly, before slapping his shoulder. "Now, boost me up on to that roof and let's get going."

He gave his head a slight shake as he put his hands together for her to step on to. He should have saved that line for when Alistair could hear it. He'd have to find a way to repeat it, he thought with a grin as he boosted Elissa up on to the roof.

This friendship…it would be an interesting experiment, if nothing else.


	38. Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solona tries to make her way back to camp, but something makes her change her mind.

_Some nights I stay up cashing in my bad luck_

_Some nights I call it a draw_

— _Some Nights,_  fun

Solona turned out to be adept at navigating Denerim's city streets, even at night. She supposed after so many trips through the ever-shifting labyrinth of the Fade, navigating a maze where the walls and pathways  _stayed_   _put_  was a much easier task. Her plan was to follow the path of the river that bisected the city until she came to the last bridge leading north. Then she'd take that and from there find the West gate, and then  _poof,_ turn into a mouse and scuttle on through.

It was a fine plan, and since she found herself on empty streets, her mind was free to wander away from her present, less than ideal circumstances, and drift back to her chief worry and concern: convincing Alistair (and by extension, Elissa) that she'd merely gotten herself lost, and hadn't up and deserted like he might've surmised, given their last conversation…

Maybe she could convince Alistair.  _Maker's blood,_  the fool of a Templar would probably accept any answer more greedily than the truth. But, Elissa was a tougher sell.

It wasn't that the noblewoman was infallible. After all, Solona had managed to conceal certain aspects of her past (and present) to the woman everyone at camp seemed to think could ferret out a secret better than a fat Orlesian could ferret out cake. But of course Solona had given Elissa no reason to suspect that she was in contact with a magister from Tevinter. She could only imagine how Elissa might react if she'd known that Solona had learned the bulk of her abilities from a powerful maleficar.

She sighed to herself. It was likely that in order to convince Elissa of her good intentions, she'd have to give a fairly truthful rendition of what happened. Where Elissa was concerned, the fewer lies she had to tell, the safer she would be. So, she decided she would admit that she got spooked and ran away. If she were contrite enough…maybe Elissa would accept it.

 _She's not altogether unreasonable._ After Elissa deduced that the poison Jowan administered was meant to only weaken and not kill its victim, Solona had taken a stab at convincing Elissa that since Jowan couldn't be regarded as an attempted murderer anymore, shouldn't thatwarrant another request for a room outside the dungeons?

Elissa had, against all expectations, agreed. She actually convinced that shrew Isolde to house Jowan in a locked tower room, rather than the dirty, dark dungeon. Solona hadn't expected her argument to work, but it had, and it certainly softened her opinion of the Warden. If she promised that it wouldn't happen again, she thought there was a good chance Elissa might forgive her attempted desertion.

The thought should have brought her more comfort than it did.

Just then she heard voices, and scrambled quickly into a dark alley, hiding herself behind some barrels stacked up against the side of the building.

The voices were loud and rough and slurred. Male and female, the two drunks shuffled by and Solona waited patiently for them to pass. Once she could hear not even an echo of their footsteps, she counted slowly to ten, and then poked her head out behind a barrel.

She could see no one in the gloom, so she set off again, mindful to keep the babble of the river's water always to her right.

As she settled into her pace she thought again about the  _Joining—_ the dangerous ritual still hung over her head, like the most monstrous black bird in the most melodramatic ghost story.

Alistair was right, she realized. Eventually, one way or the other, Elissa would figure out how to perform the ritual. Perhaps it wouldn't even happen until after the Blight, but if Solona lived long enough she would inevitably face taking the cup.

" _It tasted like death itself."_ That's what Elissa said when Solona had asked about it. Solona hadn't asked any follow-up questions after that, but now she wished she had. What exactly were the chances of survival? Did survivors have any particular traits in common? Was there anything she could do to increase her chances?

She felt stupid for not having asked, but there was nothing for it now. She kicked a small rock with her toe, and it flew a foot in the air before landing with a thud on the hard-packed dirt road. With a frown, she looked up and stopped. She was at a crossroads. The street she'd been walking on was bisected by another street heading north and over a bridge. The torches that lit the bridge looked like hazy balls of light in the gloom.

The light was inviting, wan as it was. She realized she could just as easily cross here than at the last bridge. In her mind's eye she saw the city stretched out in front of her as if she were looking at a small scale model. North of the river were some of the better parts of town, she remembered—and the marketplace was north of here.

Her feet were already leading her to the bridge before she was consciously aware of making the decision. The marketplace would be better lit. It also might be better populated, but Solona felt like risking it. She'd done a decent job of avoiding anyone so far and she hadn't even had to shape shift yet.

She crossed the bridge, staying as close as she dared to the edge and trying to stick to the shadows. There was no one else traversing it at this hour at least. When she got to the end of it, she started down the wide street that lead to the market place.

She wasn't the only pedestrian in sight. One man slumped against a building—Solona tripped on his outstretched legs and only just managed to keep from falling face first into the red cobblestone. "S-sorry!" she stammered, but the figure made some wordless grumble and waved her off.

A couple of drunks shuffling home and a few street rats passed her by, but they didn't pay her any mind so she quit bothering with slinking in the shadows and instead upped her pace, striding toward her destination with a purpose.

The buildings finally gave way to the wide open expanse that made up Denerim's market district. There was more light here than anywhere else, so Solona was able to see that it was abandoned at this hour.

She took a tentative step into the marketplace, peering around and trying to get her bearings. She hadn't come here from quite this direction before, so it took her a few seconds to find familiar landmarks. Then she saw the low stone wall that surrounded the Chantry clear on the other side of the city center. It was just beyond that wall, she knew, to the large wooden gate that led westward out of the city.

She'd made it this far at least. Navigating the city had been easier than she would have guessed, and she realized with a pang that she would be sorry to leave its comforting confines to venture into the wilderness outside. The great outdoors was a more intimidating and frightening place than Ferelden's largest city, it turned out.

But she would have to suck it up, gather her courage and just  _do_ it, already. She started to make her way around the square, sticking to the edges and the shadows just in case. Her wariness was rewarded when the clinking of armor and the sound of footsteps alerted her to a guard's presences some thirty feet from her. Of course the marketplace would have guards at night—Solona felt silly for not thinking of it sooner, and ducked into a side street to shape shift back into her mouse form. She might've been able to simply time the patrols and make a dash for it, but she figured this method was the safer route.

Nose twitching with a thousand intriguing scents and ears alert to any noise, Solona scuttled down the side of the market, ducking under boarded up wooden stalls when she could. Her meandering path took her toward another gate, with another guard standing in front of it. He didn't notice her as she froze in front of him, staring up at him with bulbous pink eyes. Conscious thought was harder in this form, but Solona remembered this particular gate, surrounded by high stone walls, from her earlier trip to the market.

This was the gate to the alienage.

She froze, contemplating her course of action. Rising up onto her back haunches she sniffed the air—though once she found herself in the act she didn't really know what she was sniffing for. Magic?

Aurelian had said his peer could be found at the alienage. It was only now that she stood in front of the gate did she remember that the entire district had been closed off. She vaguely remembered a half-heard conversation about disease being the culprit.

She rubbed her little mouse forepaws together, suddenly feeling torn. Just beyond that gate, Solona might find freedom—true freedom, for the first time ever in her life…but that freedom would come at the cost of her best friend's life.

She dropped to four paws again and started to scurry away, toward the West gate that led out of the city…toward her future as a Grey Warden.

 _What'll happen to Jowan if I die?_  The thought stopped her in her mouse tracks. Elissa had stayed Jowan's execution only because Solona promised her a favor in return. If Solona died before she could deliver that favor…did that mean their agreement was over?

She squeaked to herself in frustration, pacing back and forth across the cobblestone in frantic bursts of movement. Her tiny mouse heart was racing.

Why hadn't she thought all this through more fully? How terribly fucking stupid would it be for her to die during the Joining and have Jowan's head on the chopping block all over again?

_Maker's ass._

There had to be another way. Some way for her to save them both—

—she hesitated, going very still and looking with her right eye toward the alienage gate. Could she ask Caladrius, a perfect stranger, to help her bust out her best friend from an impenetrable fortress on the other side of the country?

Of course she couldn't. It was impossible.

She turned toward the West gate again, though she walked very slowly.

She simply had to trust that she would survive the Joining. Contemplating the other possibility was a fruitless exercise in terrified  _What ifs._

As she crawled toward the gate, she found herself wondering what her future might look like if she  _were_  to survive. She would definitely campaign for Jowan's release…though if she were being honest she would have to confess that her chances for success were slim. She could probably keep Jowan from getting executed, but what else could she do? They might send him to Aeonar after this.

 _Unless they make him Tranquil._  Of course…that was the more likely outcome, wasn't it? Jowan wasn't a Harrowed mage when he escaped. It would be the easiest solution of any—and provide the Circle with one more Tranquil mage to do its bidding.

Solona had completely frozen yet again on the cobblestones, unable to get her four legs moving toward the exit that loomed ahead of her…unable to move toward the fate that awaited her…and Jowan.

Even if she lived, she'd be shackled to the Wardens and fighting darkspawn for the rest of her life. And for what? For Jowan to spend the rest of his days as either a prisoner or…or as a shallow husk of the man he once was? As an automaton for the Templars and the Chantry to exploit for their gain?

She was pretty sure Jowan would rather die than be made tranquil. And in that moment, facing uncertain death and a morbid future through one gate, and the promise of freedom like she could only dream about through another gate, Solona made her choice.

Fast as her four little legs could carry her, she scurried back towards the alienage gate. Just as she rounded a corner and the lone guard came into view, her sensitive mouse ears picked up footsteps, awfully close. She cocked her head to the side and listened.

 _Two two-legs and one four-legs._ She squeaked as the figures came into view, slipping out of the shadows. There was something familiar about the trio, but some animal instinct overwhelmed her at the sight and sound of a large brown mabari war hound, and she was struck by an all-consuming need to flee.

There was perhaps a two-inch gap between the wooden gate and the cobblestone street below it, but that was probably enough for Solona to squeeze herself through. She dashed for it, and was almost to it by the time the war hound saw her and chased after, the thunder of his four large paws smacking against the street propelling her to go faster. Darting through the gap, her claws scraped against the stone when her hindquarters got stuck. She squeaked in panic and felt the hound's breath on her back before she summoned enough strength to squeeze herself under.

She skittered a few feet away from the gate before the panic subsided and she froze, listening with her proportionally large ears.

The hound was snuffling and pawing at the stone under the gate, and whining under his breath. Then, voices that were instantly familiar spoke—only Solona could not interpret the words. It sounded like nonsense!

She willed herself to breathe, to calm down, and then remembered that Morrigan had warned her of this. Focusing her will she cast the complementary spell (amazed that she still could) that would allow her to understand human speech.

"I don't care what your mongrel thinks," a man's voice was suddenly crystal clear. "This gate has been closed all day, and nobody's come in or out, man or elf."

"I'm telling you, the beast saw a rat and chased it under there," Morrigan's voiced chimed in. "'Tis that and nothing more."

Prince finally stopped his pawing at the wooden gate, and then Solona heard him deliver a low grumble of a growl.

"I don't think so!" Leliana's lilting voice cried out. "He had someone's scent and was heading this way…I think he's on to Elissa's trail!"

Solona's blinked. Why in the world were Morrigan and Leliana tracking Elissa?

"Hmm," was all the warning Morrigan gave, before Solona felt the witch start casting. She barely had time to skitter away before she heard something large and heavy thump against the wooden gate.

She kept going for a few feet even after the sleep spell was cast, knowing what Morrigan would likely follow up with. She waited with her heart in her throat for a few more seconds, and then a strangled cry split the night, before it ended in wordless gurgle.

"What did you do that for?" Leliana said with a gasp.

Morrigan made a  _tsk_  sound. "Pray, what should I have done? The sleep spell would have worn off in a matter of minutes."

Leliana sighed and as Solona slowly crept back toward the gate, she heard the shuffling of feet and realized the women were attempting to prop the body up against the wall. "Poison would have been quieter," Leliana said, in a cold tone Solona had never heard the Chantry sister use before.

She heard more shuffling noises, and a jingle that Solona surmised must've come from the guard's key ring, because a second there was a sharp  _click_  and then the large wooden gate slowly opened. She scampered away to hide herself under the porch of the closest ramshackle building, hoping that Prince wouldn't pick up her scent and come after her.

The dog darted straight for her hiding place, however. But then Solona's ears twitched when the distant ringing of metal against metal reached them.

Prince must've heard the noises, too. He halted in his tracks and cocked his head to the side, while the two humans walked up to him. Another  _clang_  reached her ears, and then Prince's nose was on the ground and he was sniffing loudly while walking around in circles. After a moment he froze again, gave a sharp bark, and then took off deeper into the alienage. Morrigan and Leliana shared a look and then hurried after him.

Solona sat there under the porch for a few moments, letting her companions get a little further away from her before she emerged, still fearful of attracting Prince's attention. While she crept through the alienage after them, her mind raced with questions. The last she knew, Elissa had gone into the city with Zevran early that morning for some purpose she didn't share with the rest of them. Her whiskers twitched in agitation. Elissa must not have returned to camp. Had Zevran? Or Alistair?

A wide dirt path served as the main thoroughfare for the alienage. As Solona rounded the bend she saw Leliana and Morrigan in the distance. Sticking to the shadows of each building, Solona made her way to the two women. One of them stooped over something, and as Solona cautiously approached, a coppery tang filled her nostrils.

Bodies. They were bending over bodies—Leliana's quick hands darted into the pocket of a robed corpse on the ground as Solona tried to tamp down the panic that was starting to overwhelm her again. Some brutal force had decimated the other corpses—she saw body parts lying in pools of blood like so much meat—but the figure was mostly intact, and she could see that the robes the man wore were fine. They were blue and green with a rich golden thread embroidered along the edges. With a jolt, Solona realized that his robes reminded her of Aurelian's.

Prince darted up the steps of the closest building and Leliana and Morrigan once again raced to follow, but Solona froze, staring into the face of the dead mage. His beard was neatly trimmed—it covered a strong jawline, and its rich, auburn color matched the smooth, well-coiffed hair on his head.

Was this Caladrius? Lying murdered in a muddy pool of his own blood? Who had killed him? It couldn't have been Elissa, could it? And if so, what in the Void for?

* * *

The flames licked the logs in the firepit eagerly, crackling and spitting in what would have been a cacophony of sound if it wasn't drowned out by the dull but constant roar of conversation. It was well past midnight by Solona's guess, but their arrival back at camp had seemed to give everyone a second wind, and now they all stayed up late telling and retelling each other the stories of their amazing fucking day in Denerim.

Alistair, Zevran, and Elissa took turns filling in the others on just what they'd been up to since this morning. Their tale was filled with twists and turns—it told of duels and pickpockets, bandits and pirates, and last of all elves and slavers.

 _Fucking slavers._  Solona scowled into the flames. She should have fled at the first dead body, she told herself for about the umpteenth time since reuniting with her companions.  _Fucking Templar abilities._ She looked up at Alistair, who was mid-yarn—something about a flash bomb and a bridge that left Elissa blushing after a retort from Zevran. She wasn't paying attention to their words though, instead brought back to that terrible moment in the warehouse when Alistair's unexpected Cleanse had popped Solona unwillingly into her human form right in the middle of the battle with the real Caladrius.

She'd had no answer to give when Elissa questioned her afterward.

" _Why didn't you reveal yourself sooner?" Elissa asked, face screwed up in confusion._

" _Well, I, uh…"_

"' _Tis obvious, is it not?" Morrigan interrupted with a little sneer. Solona fell silent, feeling her heart thrum wildly in her chest. It was impossible that Morrigan knew the truth, and yet the witch's smug smile made her nervous. When she didn't reply, Morrigan shook her head in disgust. "You forgot how to change back, didn't you?"_

_An authentic blush crawled up Solona's cheek as she saw amused grins appear on her companions' faces. At least Leliana hid hers behind her hand. "Something like that," she mumbled._

She supposed she ought to be grateful that Morrigan's snide conclusion had been so embarrassing—nothing made a lie go down easier than the humiliation of the liar. But, it was tough to swallow, being back here facing this uncertain future, when she'd come so damn close to escaping it.

 _Yeah, right. All I had to do was become a slaver, and I'd have been free._  She picked up a stick and started picking off the bark in sharp, jerky motions, angry all over again at Aurelian for sending her to a fucking  _slaver_  without so much as a warning. Did he think she wouldn't care? Of course she cared! She couldn't have just  _overlooked_  Caladrius' occupation and hitched a ride with him to Tevinter.

She flicked pieces of bark into the fire as she picked them off the stick. The pieces burnt up in a quick and satisfying way, and she soon ran out of bark and tossed the stick into the fire with a frown.

 _I wouldn't have gone with him._  That was the trouble though, and part of what made her so bleeding angry. There was a part of her that wasn't quite sure, and she hated herself and pretty much everyone else involved that had forced her to contemplate the question at all _._

"No, no," Alistair said after another round of laughter. "The best part was when the guard showed up. Darrian was all 'this isn't what it looks like!'" He put his hands in the air, mimicking the giant elf who had befriended Zevran and enlisted the Wardens' help. "So, Elissa looks around and goes 'Actually, it's  _exactly_  what it looks like.'" Alistair's imitation was perfection—he managed to capture Elissa's confused but certain tone as well as her incredulous facial expression.

"I can't believe the guard just let you go," Wynne said, chuckling to herself and shaking her head.

"Sergeant Kylon was just as disgusted by Loghain's treachery as we were." The mention of Loghain turned Elissa's expression serious. "He's assured me that he won't let this get covered up. He won't let them just do this all over again in another month."

"And he also promised to extol the Wardens' virtues to any who will listen," Leliana added. She cocked an eyebrow at Elissa. "It was brave of you to to ask them all to advertise your involvement. Now Loghain knows that you are in the city."

Elissa shrugged. "It can't hurt our reputation with the populace. And if it takes the heat off the elves in the alienage, then its worth it."

Murmurs of agreement from the rest of them showed they agreed. Solona picked up another stick and started picking at it.

She had thought they were goners when the City Guard had shown up, but the Sergeant had turned out to be something of a Warden fan.  _Lucky Elissa. Must be nice…_

The mention of Loghain seemed to deflate everyone enough for them to realize how tired they all were. They started drifting off one by one to their tents, until the camp fire's crackle was once again loud.

Solona was just about to head toward her own tent, eager to escape into her bedroll, when Elissa appeared in front of her, blocking her view of the fire. "Solona. We need to speak in private."

Solona looked around. Sten still sat by the fire, as did Morrigan. She supposed they had watch duty tonight. With a sigh, Solona got to her feet and gestured for Elissa to lead on.

Her mouth went dry as she followed Elissa to the edge of camp. She had told Elissa and Alistair that she became frightened at the sight of some Templars. She told them she fled and shape-shifted into a mouse, only to find herself lost and unable to shape-shift back. They had seemed to buy her story, and it was certainly mortifying enough to have that ring of truth to it. But as Elissa came to a stop by a copse of trees it came to Solona that  _of course_  Elissa would want to question her in private. She wouldn't want the others hearing her precious Warden secrets.

Solona licked her lips. "Well?" Elissa seemed to freeze at her tone and Solona cursed her lack of self-control. Aiming for a much more natural tone, she continued. "What did you want to talk about?"

Elissa took a deep breath and seemed to hold it for a few seconds. "Alistair told me a little of the conversation that you two had in the pub," she said. "I just thought that we should meet so I could clarify a few things."

"Oh?"

"Yes. I fear that Alistair may have…intimated a few things that…that I would rather he hadn't."

Solona crossed her arms across her chest and cocked her head to the side to stare at Elissa's silhouette. There was something not quite right about the way this conversation was going. "That so?"

"Indeed." Elissa fell silent for a few seconds. "Regardless of what Alistair may have implied…you  _do_  have a choice, Solona. We're not going to kill you if you decide you don't want to become a Warden."

She couldn't stop blinking. "I… _what_?"

There was a sharp intake of breath. "I thought you  _wanted_  to join the Wardens! I thought that was your dream, so I conscripted you. But… _Maker's breath,_ why would I kill you for simply changing your mind?"

"Because…because…fuck, I don't know! But I thought that's what you had to do…"

Elissa waved her arms. "Why? To protect Warden  _secrets_? Are these secrets worth more than your life? I don't think so. Besides, who are you going to tell anyway?"

Solona gaped at her. "Really?"

"Of course." She gave a deep sigh. "I understand the organization's inclination toward secrecy, and if your recruitment had been conducted in the traditional way…well, that'd be one thing. But it wasn't, and frankly…" Elissa gave a little sniff. "Frankly I have a tendency to underestimate the emotional repercussions of some of my decisions. It is a weakness I'm attempting to correct."

"You're…you're serious? You not going to kill me if I refuse the Joining?"

Elissa shook her head. "Solona…do you suppose I have so many friends that I can afford to kill the ones that make a decision I dislike? Besides…" She leaned forward and squeezed Solona's upper arm. "That's a waste of a perfectly good mage if you ask me."

Solona couldn't help herself. She snorted in amusement and relief. "I…completely agree with that assessment."

"Mind you, I still think taking the cup would be your best option if we ever figure out how. I can only offer you so much protection before you officially Join. But, if you'd like you may return to the Circle after you've helped us end the Blight." Elissa's voice dropped to a low tone. "You have my word."

Solona's head was spinning. Was…was something good actually happening to her? It was too good to be true. Her forehead creased with sudden worry. "What does Alistair think of all this?"

Elissa waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. "Alistair will respect my decision."

 _Amazing._ Suddenly the future seemed quite a bit less grim. She felt practically buoyant from the sudden change in moods. "Yeah, you've got the Golden Boy wrapped around your little finger don't you," she teased, poking playfully at Elissa's upper arm.

The Warden's reaction was immediate. She huffed a loud breath and then started stammering. "No, we're not…I mean I'm not…No." She cleared her throat. "Alistair and I are good friends and partners. Nothing more."

 _Yeah, right._ "Sure, of course. My mistake," Solona said with a grin.

Let her have her secrets. Solona was feeling generous.

* * *

"So it turns out it was all a bunch of worry over nothing!" Solona popped a strawberry in her mouth, delighted at how real the juices tasted and felt on her tongue. Aurelian truly was a master of dream walking.

"Yes, I see," Aurelian said, leaning back against the bench and looking off at the sunny meadow with a thoughtful frown. "This Elissa of yours…you were right. She is  _quite_  pragmatic and clever."

Her brows knit together. She had rather thought Elissa was being more kind and generous than conniving. "How do you mean?"

"Well," he said, gesturing with his hand. "She obviously understands your value and isn't willing to waste it frivolously on the Joining." He met her gaze then, and raised an eyebrow. " _Especially_  not before you have paid her this little favor of yours."

Solona pushed the strawberries around her plate with her finger, all of a sudden not nearly so enamored with them. "So what you're saying is she's only keep me alive until I can do some dream walking thing for her?" She looked up with a scowl. "She gave me her word."

He raised his hands in mock surrender; his expression remained serene. "All I'm saying, Solona…put off this favor as long as you can, if you know what's good for you."

"Yeah, right. Thanks for the advice," she snapped. "I guess I'll see you around."

Without so much as a goodbye, Solona wrenched herself out of the magister's conjured meadow. With a gasp she woke up, and then looked over to Leliana's bedroll, fearful that she had awoken her. But Leliana slept soundly, so Solona turned her gaze to the roof of the tent, contemplating the darkness above her.

It was many hours before she was able to fall back asleep.


	39. Move

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair and Elissa grow closer.

 

_Whoa, the world ain't ending, but it might as well be,  
_ _Whoa, I'll rock you like the sea,  
_ _Buildings ain't crumblin', but they might as well be,  
_ _Whoa, so let's not think and just,_

_Move like you stole it,  
_ _Move, hurry,  
_ _Move like you stole it,  
_ _Make your move on me_

— _Move Like U Stole It,_ ZZ Ward

"No, I cannot go back to the estate on my day off. Servants simply don't  _do_  that, and it won't do us any favors to arouse suspicion."

Elissa stood with her arms crossed, glaring down at Solona and Leliana, who were seated on the grass by a tree stump that had a  _mancala_  game board resting upon it. An import from Seheron, the game was played with smooth glass pebbles and a wooden board with a dozen or so shallow pits carved into the surface. They played by moving the bits of glass from one pit to the other, with the aim of capturing all the pebbles by the game's end. It was an entertaining diversion, and almost everyone enjoyed a match when time allowed.

"I just can't believe we're still no closer to finding that blasted antidote."

Leliana gave a little shrug as she dropped glass pebbles into the pits one by one. "We are a little closer."

"You've searched his bedroom and his study and found nothing—"

"Indeed. So now we know the antidote is not in his bedroom or his study. That is progress."

Elissa gave a frustrated growl. "I'd hardly call that progress! For all I know I've sidetracked us for no reason and this entire endeavor is a pointless."

From Alistair's vantage place near the campfire he couldn't see Elissa's expression, as she had her back to him. But he could see Leliana's, and when she looked up at Elissa, the ex-Chantry sister's features softened. "Do not lose faith in your plan. It has only been a week."

"How much  _more_  time do you think it will take?"

Solona looked up from the game board with a frown, looking first at Elissa, and then turning to raise her eyebrows at Alistair as if to say  _are you going to do something or what?_

He supposed he could take Solona's silent plea for help as a good sign that they were on better footing with each other, but the truth was that everyone always looked to him to serve as a mediator when Elissa's "personality" started causing problems. Like he was the only one who could speak  _Elissa Cousland._

The thought pleased him more than it probably should. What could he say? It made him feel useful.

He got to his feet as Leliana took a deep breath and seemed to consider her words. "I do not know," she said as he walked over and joined them. At Elissa's grumble she held up a hand. "You must be patient. These things…they can take time to develop, yes?" With that, she turned back to the game.

Elissa spared him a glance, and he shot her a  _look_  but she pointedly ignored him, turning back to Leliana. "So your plan is to sit around all day and do  _nothing_? Is that it?"

Leliana's head snapped up and her eyes narrowed dangerously. Before she could reply, Alistair cleared his throat. "Um, 'Liss?" She turned to glare at him and he went barreling on before she could interject. "Don't you think Leliana's earned a day off by now? You know, after a whole week of having to scrub floors and wash other people's bedclothes and such?"

She stood there blinking for a few seconds, before her features softened and she looked at the dirt at her feet. "Yes, of course. Sorry, Leliana…I suppose you've earned a day off."

Leliana shot a wry smile to Alistair before nodding at Elissa. "Thank you. I appreciate it."

Solona shot him what looked like a genuine smile. He smiled back, pleased with himself, only to turn and see Elissa peering over at him with a suspicious frown. " _Anyway_ ," he said, drawing out the word. "Isn't it about time for your training session with Isabela?"

Elissa had gone back to the Pearl (a  _brothel_ , of all the places…) after that tumultuous night in the city, and begged the pirate for another chance to impress her.

_The pirate threw back her head and laughed. "I'm surprised you'd show your face in here again after your last visit, kitten," she said, eyes twinkling with mischief. "You've got spunk. I'll give you that."_

Elissa's arms were crossed in front of her chest and she scowled up at Alistair. "I suppose you'll insist on escorting me again today?"

He felt his own eyes narrow, but he took a deep breath before speaking. "It's a brothel in the docks district. You're not going alone."

"Fine," she spat out, and then turned sharply on her heel and started stomping her way out of camp without a second glance at the other women.

He breathed through his nose for a few seconds before turning to Leliana and Solona, who had apparently abandoned their game in favor of staring at him with varying degrees of pity and curiosity. "Ladies," he said with a sharp nod, and turned to follow Elissa before the two of them could comment.

He caught up with her in a few quick strides and they walked for a few minutes in silence until they reached the road and the campground was completely out of view. Only then did Elissa's pace slow. She looked at him over her shoulder with a coquettish smile. "So, do you think they were convinced?"

"Hell,  _I_ almost bought it. For a moment there I thought you were really pissed at me." He stopped and pulled her close to him. Wrapping his arms around her waist he cocked his head to the side and looked down at her thoughtfully. "Is this deception  _really_  necessary?"

"I like keeping things between us…private," she said, sliding her hands behind his neck and melting into him. "I think we're doing quite well without the rest of the group's interference, don't you?"

It was hard to argue any point at all with her pressed up against him like she was. He wondered if she could feel the way his heart hammered in his chest. "We are," he said as a slow grin spread across his face. She tilted her face up to him and he bent his head and kissed her.

While he wasn't entirely certain they could keep the others from finding out, he figured if it made Elissa more comfortable he wouldn't object to at least  _trying_  to keep the secret. Things were going rather well between them, against all odds and logic, after all.

For a moment, he'd thought it was all going to go wrong. The day after they'd cleared the alienage of slavers he and Elissa sneaked away from the rest of the group, ostensibly to gather water (or was it kindling?) but really that was just an excuse for the two of them to steal a few minutes locking lips away from other nosy souls. She'd pulled away after some blissful interval and whispered huskily that she could slip into his tent that night if he so wanted.

And, like an idiot, he'd frozen. Again.

" _Um, my uh…tent?" he asked, blinking rapidly as it occurred to him that in spite of all that had happened, they had somehow landed squarely at the exact same spot they were before. It was only at that moment that he realized how much he'd been using the specter of Rory as an excuse..._

_She was gazing up at him adoringly. His mouth went dry and he hesitated. There was a part of him—a rather insistent and hard-to-ignore part—that wanted to chuck caution to the wind and just drag Elissa to his tent right then and there. But there was another part that was insisting just as loudly that this was all too much, much too soon..._

_If he did this with her…that would be it. An important line would be crossed and he wouldn't be able to take it back. And maybe that would have been alright, but the truth was he still wasn't sure that Elissa took it all as seriously as he did._

_But Maker's ass, how was he going to explain all this to her without making a complete fool of himself? Or worse…_

_He cleared his throat. "I know most guys would probably leap at the chance to go to bed with you, but I'm not certain I'm ready for that. I guess that must make me sound like an idiot." He was babbling in his rush to explain. "I mean…turn down an incredible woman like you? I'd have to be, right?"_

_Her smile faltered and then disappeared as his words sunk in. "I don't know," she said, frowning as she hugged her arms to her chest. "But you are…you are turning me down?"_

_He grimaced, hating the hurt tone in her voice and the look on her face. "I'm sorry, I'm just not ready—"_

" _Maker's breath, what is wrong with me?" Elissa covered her face with her hands. "I can't believe I did this_ again. _"_

_He lifted his hand to reach for her but then stopped himself, unsure if it would be welcome. "Don't…don't do that. You're not—"_

" _Defective," she mumbled into her hands._

_His chest tightened. She was always doing that—she hardly needed an excuse to find fault with herself. "No!" he insisted. "You're not defective—that's ridiculous. If anyone here's defective it's me. I'm the defective one!"_

_She lowered her hands and then looked him up and down. "You're…defective?"_

_His eyes went wide. "No!…No, no, not_ defective. _I'm perfectly capable…it's not like that." His ears were burning and he was certain he was red from head to toe. "Maker's ass, I'm handling this with my usual deft brilliance, aren't I?" He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and when he opened them he saw Elissa looking up at him with eyebrows knit together. He put his hands on her shoulders and applied the gentlest of pressure. "I was raised to not take this sort of thing lightly. It's not that I don't_ want _to, I do. I just…" He looked in her wide green eyes and tried to convey everything he couldn't say into his glance. "I just want us to take our time. Get to know each other better. You know?"_

" _I…see." She bit her lip and looked up at him._

_He went on, eager to smooth things over but also struck by the truth of what he was saying. For all he felt for her—for all the emotion she stirred in him—she remained something of a mystery to him. There was so much about her that he didn't know, so much that went on behind those big green eyes of hers that he didn't understand. "You know, we hardly get to spend any time together anymore, now that we're not sparring. I miss it."_

_She stared at him for a few seconds. "I was trying to beat the shit out of you," she said, arching an eyebrow. "You miss that?"_

_He gave a snort of a laugh. "Well, yeah, but it was fun wasn't it? Not that I don't like our little trips to the woods," he added, sliding his hands to her waist and pulling her to him. He was thrilled when she didn't resist. Maybe he was going to pull this off after all? "I just…I just wish we could spend more time together. You know, not just doing this…" He looked down at the two of them. "But just…just talking."_

_She had gone very still. "You do like to talk," she said after a moment, as if he'd just asked her to eat a goldfish, or something equally outlandish._

" _I do. Especially to you."_

" _Hmm." She traced a tiny circle on his chest with her finger and looked up at him through dark lashes. "Most people…do not."_

_That was probably true, he realized, considering how conversations with Elissa could tend to go. And yet, for all of that, he told the truth. "Yeah? Well, I guess I'm not most people," he said, tightening his arms around her waist._

" _No. You're not." She stood there a few moments, looking up at him with a thoughtful frown that for some reason made him hold his breath. "Alright," she said at last._

_He blinked down at her. "Alright?"_

" _Alright. Yes. We can…take things slow. We can do…or not do…whatever you want." Her cheeks flushed a fetching pink. "I just…yes. Alright."_

" _Just yes," he repeated, smiling like a dope at her for a few seconds. "Alright," he added, before lowering his head to kiss her again._

It all turned out better than he'd had any reason to hope it would. Things were going well, and as he took her hand and they walked into the city, Alistair felt near giddy with optimism.

* * *

Escorting Elissa to and from her training sessions with Isabela was both the best and worst part of his day. It was the best because it meant time alone with her where he didn't have to pretend they were only just friends.

But it was the worst, because he had to sit there waiting at the Pearl while she trained.

A  _brothel._  Of all the places they could go, Elissa had to find a trainer in a  _brothel._ He spent the whole time there nursing his one mug of ale and trying to find a place to rest his eyes that wouldn't elicit a furious blush. That usually meant he sat hunched over his ale, staring at the wooden bar, or the bottles behind it.

Elissa and Isabela practiced in a back corner, away from the other patrons.

 _Isabela_. She was the  _worst._

She showed almost as much skin as Morrigan, spoke a hell of a lot more crudely, and seemed to delight in tormenting Alistair at every opportunity. If she caught him watching her and Elissa train, she would make some obscene pantomime behind Elissa's back, and he'd be forced to look back down at the bar while his ears turned red. Other times when he glanced over, he'd see Isabela draped over Elissa, one arm slung around her shoulders as she whispered in her ear. Elissa would flush and look in Alistair's direction, and he'd feel like he was going to explode with both wanting and not wanting to know just exactly what they were talking about.

He'd made the mistake of asking once.

" _Sex," Elissa answered._

" _Ahh…oh. Um, really?"_

 _She nodded. "Indeed. She's quite experienced. I find her_ very _informative on the subject. "_

" _Uh." He scratched the back of his neck. "Wow."_

" _Oh, yes." She dropped her voice to a whisper and leaned over. "She sleeps with both men_  and  _women."_

Great. " _Does she, uh, prefer one over the other?"_

" _I think she prefers women. She says men are only good for one thing; whereas women are good for six."_

" _What's that supposed to mean?"_

" _I don't know. When I asked she said she couldn't tell me—she'd have to show me." He must have blanched at that, because she put her hand on his shoulder and said reassuringly, "I told her I wasn't_ that _curious."_

"Whiskey, barkeep. Neat."

Alistair turned his head to see Isabela had sidled up to the bar next to him and he'd been too lost in his own thoughts to notice. He cleared his throat and took a long pull on his tankard, hoping she'd have mercy on him for once and leave him alone.

"I  _am_  thirsty," she purred, leaning up against the bar so that her breasts were pushed up dangerously high. He made the mistake of glancing over at her and she shot him a mocking grin. "Your girl makes me  _sweat,_ if you know what I mean _._ "

Alistair turned to stare into his mug. "Where is she?"

"She's getting cleaned up." The barkeep set a glass of whiskey in front of Isabela and she flicked her a coin. "Thanks, kitten," Isabela purred, before picking up the shot glass and knocking back the drink. "Ahh." She smacked her lips together and then slammed the glass down on the bar.

He kept his gaze trained on the bottles behind the bar but he could see her staring at him out of the corner of his eye.  _Great._  She was probably gearing up to describe her time with Elissa in the most lurid manner imaginable, if past experience were any predictor. As if Alistair would believe she and Elissa spent their time doing something quite different from training during their sessions. That was a favorite past time of hers. He knew what she was doing, but it didn't stop the blushing.

Today was no exception. "I have to admit, I went kind of  _hard_ on your girl today." She leaned over until their shoulders were touching. "Did you ever do that when you were training her? Go  _hard_  on her?"

Alistair rolled his eyes and then moved over so that they weren't touching. "Sure. Whatever," he muttered, lifting his tankard to his lips.

Isabela snorted. "You're no fun today. Ah well, tell kitten I'm sorry about the mess." She started to slink away, trailing her finger along his arm as she went, before slapping his rear and then racing off.

A titter of laughter around him had him glancing around, and then immediately regretting the action. His gaze raked over exposed shoulders, rounded breasts, ample thighs, and worse before he snapped his head back to stare intently into at his empty tankard.

He didn't notice Elissa's presence next to him a few moments later until he heard her ragged voice say, "whiskey."

Startled, he turned and his jaw dropped at the sight of her.

Her hand held a bloody rag against her nose, and blood streamed down the sides of her face.

"Maker's breath! Your nose!"

She acknowledged him with a quick glance and then nodded, before grabbing the glass of whiskey the barkeep set in front of her. She moved the rag to take a drink, and when she did Alistair saw the ruin that was her nose—it was bruised and bloody and well… _crooked._

" _Andraste's sodding knickers—_ did Isabela do this to you?"

She held the rag against her face again. "Yes." She nodded at the barkeep. "Another."

He blinked at her. "She broke your nose!"

Elissa shrugged, and moved the cloth again to knock back another slug of whiskey. She winced as she set the glass back down on the bar, and put the rag against her nose again. "I should have moved faster." She shook her head. "It won't happen again," she added, before nodding at the barkeep for another shot of whiskey.

"Well,  _Maker_ , Elissa why are standing here  _drinking_? Don't you have a health potion? You need healing."

"I know." The rag came down and she licked her lips before picking up the glass of amber liquid. Taking a deep breath, she knocked it back.

" _Elissa!"_

She turned to him. "I have a health potion in my pack, but I can't take it yet." She grabbed his hands and then moved them to either side of her face. "You need to set my nose first."

He stared at her for a few moments, eyes wide with horror as her intention finally penetrated the haze of his panic. "Shit." And then, years of field training kicked in, as he realized what had to be done. He took a deep breath and put his hands on her face, resting his thumbs at the bridge of her nose. He winced down at her. "This is going to hurt."

"I know." She closed her eyes and held her breath.

With one last steadying breath of his own, Alistair pushed with his thumbs until he felt something move. Elissa's whole body tensed, and when the cartilage was finally back in the right place she gave a strangled cry that he was sure would haunt him in nightmares to come. "There," he said, mouth as dry as a desert.

She touched her nose lightly before giving a nod and thrusting her hand in her pack to retrieve a health potion. Once she had downed it and cleaned up, there was hardly any evidence of her injury. "These have gotten more potent," she said, looking pleased as she placed the empty vial back in her pack.

Alistair shook his head as they walked toward the door. "Yeah, or you're just drunk," he said, opening up the door and letting the bright sunshine spill inside.

"Nah," Elissa said, linking her arm in his as they exited the building. "I've been drunk before." She leaned into him and looked up at him with a giddy smile. "This is merely  _tipsy_."

"Great," he said, shaking his head again. He couldn't help returning her smile, however. "I'd have thought you'd be put off from the stuff after what happened last time."

Elissa shrugged. "Isabela thinks I need to work on my alcohol tolerance."

His smile fled as a frustrated sigh shot out of him. "How is  _that_  going to make you a better fighter?"

She shook her head. "It won't, but that's not the point. The point is that I'll be able to fight whether I'm drunk  _or_  sober."

 _Or you could just avoid getting drunk, and not have to worry about it._ He kept that thought to himself, however, not wanting to start an argument. They made their way in silence toward the marketplace.

Alistair always found a reason to visit the marketplace. He polled group members every morning for any item they might need, always willing to swing by the shops and stalls on their way home from training. Of course, it was all just a ploy. There was this shady alcove between the Chantry's stone wall and another building where he and Elissa would somehow  _always_  find themselves after a training session at the Pearl had concluded.

It had started out innocently enough. It was only kissing, Elissa had said in a whisper the first time. Hardly anything to get too excited about, she made it sound like. And that had seemed reasonable. Plus, there was a limit to the kind of trouble the two of them could get up to while having a snog in public. The little alcove was private, but not  _that_  private.

Or at least, that's what he had told himself. However the more they settled into this routine, the line between acceptable and inappropriate kept moving on him. It wasn't that he wasn't a willing participant, of course. Elissa hadn't pressured him in any way-not in any  _intentional_  way, at least. She was just…well, she was alluring and willing and that was enough pressure all on its own.

"You don't have to be a perfect gentlemen  _all_  the time," she had whispered once, making Alistair give a nervous giggle that he was deeply thankful no one else had heard. "You can touch me wherever you want, you know," she whispered another time. He had pulled back to look at her with wide eyes and she'd fluttered her eyelashes and blushed. "Just…just so you know."

That invitation had been far too tempting, and the first time he'd lowered his hands to fully grasp her lovely, oh-so-perfectly rounded ass, a significant line in the sand was erased and redrawn.

It got a little out of hand.

" _We can't keep doing this," Alistair whispered, pulling away from Elissa. His fingertips ached to keep touching her, but the thought of an unsuspecting Chantry sister happening along their hiding place and finding them with their hands down each other's pants was too mortifying to contemplate. He adjusted his clothing, while shaking his head, trying to clear his mind._

" _I, uh…oh." Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed her movements were sharp and forceful as she laced up her blouse. "I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to pressure you…"_

" _No!" He crossed the distance between them in one stride. "I don't mean_ this."  _He made a wide gesture meant to encompass the two of them. "We should definitely,_ definitely _keep doing_ this _."_

" _Oh." She smiled up at him, blushing._

" _I just mean…we shouldn't be doing this_ here _. Like this. In an alley."_

_She shrugged a shoulder and shot him a smoldering look. "I don't care where we are."_

" _Well…I do. I don't want…I don't want our first time to be in an_ alleyway _, you know?"_

 _She gave a little snort. "I think that_ was  _our first time."_

" _What? No…that's not…that doesn't count." She arched an eyebrow up at him, but before she could launch into any kind of argument he held up his hand. "Alright, but…I just mean…" He leaned forward until their foreheads touched. "I just want it to be…special, you know? When we finally…you_  know  _what I mean."_

They didn't settle anything after that. Alistair knew it was up to him to make the next move, but nothing seemed exactly  _right._  He didn't want to rent a room at the Pearl—that would lend a pall of seediness and vulgarity to the whole thing that he couldn't stomach. Of course, there was always his tent back at camp, like Elissa had suggested what felt like ages ago. But that wasn't exactly private or special either, and so he couldn't quite bring himself to extend the invitation. Not yet.

The issue would likely come up again today, but as they made their way to the market district, Alistair's thoughts were on a different subject entirely. Finally, he could stand it no more. "Are you really getting anything out of this training with Isabela? Besides a bar tab and a broken nose?"

She looked up at him, startled by his sudden outburst. "What? Are you serious? Of course I'm getting something out of it. Do you think I would keep going if I weren't?"

They stepped into the marketplace and Alistair sighed. "No, I know it's just…she's always asking you to do these crazy things. Are you certain she's not…you know…just taking the piss with you?"

She rolled her eyes. "I know you think she's crazy, but she's not. There's a method to the madness." Arching an eyebrow at him, Elissa gave a little shrug. "She's just trying to get me into the  _mindset_  of a duelist. She's trying to change the way I  _think_."

"Well that's ridiculous! You think great already. Nobody thinks as good as you."

She rolled her eyes, but couldn't help smiling. "It's not like that…it's more of an… _ethos_  for battle that I'm talking about." At his doubtful expression, she stopped and pulled him to a stop with her. "Listen to me—this training is  _amazing._ I've learned  _so_  much _._  I've never felt so…so confident." She jutted out a chin and shot him a challenging smirk. "If we were to spar, I could beat you now, I'm sure of it."

Impulse overrode his common sense—he rolled his eyes and barked out a laugh. "Yeah,  _right._ "

Her eyes narrowed. "You doubt my ability?"

 _Shit._  "No, not your ability at all. I just…I just can't imagine that you've learned enough in a week to best  _me._  I've been training for years and years. That's just…that's just not  _realistic_ , you know?" He tried to couch it in the gentlest tone he could muster, but he could see from the look on her face that she wasn't buying it.

She stood there, glaring up at him for a few seconds, before some inspiration lit her face and she shot him a mischievous smile. "Fine. You and me in the training meadow. Now."

"Um," was all he got out before she grabbed his hand and started marching him toward the West gate. "But what about…uh…" He glanced at their shady little alcove as they walked by, but Elissa had a determined gait and a firm grip on his hand.

Why'd he have to go and open his big mouth, anyway?

* * *

Elissa stood about five feet away from him, her hip jutting out at a jaunty angle, and her wrists draped over the hilt of her daggers at her belt. "Ready?" she drawled.

She'd done a decent job of mimicking Isabela's swagger—he could give her that much. Still, swagger didn't win sparring matches. Alistair had his sword drawn and his shield out. "You gonna draw your weapons or what?"

She shrugged. "Don't need 'em."

He rolled his eyes and then advanced a few steps and she still didn't make a move to draw her daggers. Her overconfidence was going to cost her. He lifted his sword and took a swing at her.

Fast as a snake she darted to his right, deftly grabbing his sword wrist and twisting it with just enough pressure that it felt near to breaking, and in spite of all his years of advanced training, he dropped it.

Unfortunately for him, she followed up the disarm with a knee to his unarmored solar plexus, and he couldn't help doubling over in pain, in spite of how vulnerable he knew that made him.

It was the shock of it all, really, he would explain to himself later. She had just moved so unexpectedly  _fast_ , and he'd been prepared for a more traditional attack with  _actual weapons_.

The knee to the gut had him off-balance, and though he tried to back away he wasn't able to before she swept out with her leg and caught him in just the right spot at the back of the knee that he flopped to the ground, flat on his back.

She gave a wordless croon of triumph before dropping painfully to sit on his stomach, pinning his shoulders to the ground with her hands. He was pretty sure the fire that burned in her eyes was simply one of victory at first, but as she stared down at him, still panting from the exertion, the fire seemed to turn into something else.

She glanced around the meadow, and he joined her in her search, but they saw no one. They stilled, listening for any sound, but all they heard were birds chirping and the breeze rustling through the trees.

They were alone.

More alone than they had allowed themselves to be in a long, long while.

She finally returned her gaze to his. Her cheeks were flushed and she was staring down at him with an expression that made his pulse quicken. He watched, mesmerized as her tongue flitted across her lips to moisten them.

Not taking her eyes from his face she slowly inched her hips back, until she was no longer sitting on his stomach but on  _him_. Neither one of them wore armor and so he was certain she could feel  _all_  of him through the fabric of his pants as she ever-so-slightly rocked her hips and then paused, looking down at him and biting her lip.

He could only lie there, feeling like his skin was buzzing with anticipation. For a moment it seemed like time had stopped altogether as they sat poised on the knife's edge of an unspoken question.

Licking her lips again, she finally spoke. "Do you want me to move?" she asked in a barely audible whisper.

She was beautiful—the late afternoon sun glinted in her golden hair, and her skin was bathed in a warm glow.

His hands were resting on her hips. He tightened his grip. "Don't you dare."

They stared into each other's eyes for the span of a breath, and then her mouth was on his and his arms were around her, pulling her down to lie flush against him. She ground her hips into him and he thrust his up against her; the sensation was both intoxicating and  _not nearly enough_.

He broke away from the kiss to nibble at her neck and she leaned back to give him better access. Her skin was warm and soft against his mouth and he caressed her collarbone with his lips and tongue, before moving to loosen the ties of her blouse. He fumbled horribly with shaking hands, however, and so with a soft little giggle Elissa covered his hands with her own, before pulling at the strings and letting her shirt fall open.

He had touched her like this before, but he had never touched her  _like this_  before. Not with this  _intention_  behind it. This wasn't about testing limits or moving lines—this was about abandon. About acting and not thinking. About surrendering.

And in that moment, in their private little meadow, it finally felt  _right._

"Take down your hair."

She pulled back to look at him, mouth hanging open in an 'O'. All of a sudden he felt shy, as if the request was somehow too much to ask, but then she smiled down at him as her hands flew to her head. Her nimble fingers pulled out the pins holding her braid in place and she uncoiled it from where it was wrapped around her head like a crown. He helped undo the braid until finally her hair fell freely around her shoulders and down her back like a shimmering veil.

He pulled her into another kiss, lowering himself to the ground again, and letting his hands glide through the impossibly soft and silky strands of her hair. He was making a mess of it, he knew, balling his fists in the stuff as she writhed on top of him, but he didn't think she minded.

His hands had wandered to the front of her blouse yet again right before they heard the sound of someone clearing their throat. "Um, excuse me."

The unfamiliar male voice made them both freeze."I am going to  _murder_  who ever just said that," Elissa said in a low and dangerous tone.

"I'm sorry. Now is not a good time—"

Her heard someone sigh. "Go on. Tell them what you told us. Don't worry. I won't let them murder you."

At Solona's voice, Elissa slumped forward, burying her face in his shoulder. He craned his neck around so he could see who Leliana had brought to them.

The man standing next to Solona looked to be in his mid-thirties, with light auburn hair that was coiffed in a traditional Fereldan style—two braids hanging from his temples. It reminded him immediately of Loghain, putting a sour taste in his mouth.

He cleared his throat again. "Terribly sorry to interrupt your uh…um…terribly sorry to interrupt. But…" His gaze darted to Solona, and after an encouraging nod from her he went on. "But my name is Levi. Levi Dryden. I'm an old friend of your Warden Commander, Duncan. I was hoping to have a word with you."

Elissa's head snapped up and Alistair felt his chest sink as his buried grief flared to life. Their eyes met and he winced in apology, already conceding that the moment was lost—it had been the moment Levi invoked Duncan's name.

She seemed to understand immediately. She closed her eyes and let out a deep breath. "Alright, we'll talk." Alistair's hand was still cupping her breast and she was still stretched out on top of him. She glanced significantly at his hand and he snatched it away before she rolled off of him and the two straightened up their clothes.

As he got to his feet he caught Solona's knowing smirk and could only shrug in return. So much for keeping their relationship a secret.

Elissa led Levi back in the direction of camp and Alistair fell into stride with Solona behind them. "I don't suppose you'll keep quiet about this."

She glanced over at him and snorted. "Well, aren't  _you_  adorable."

He felt his face grow warmer. "What? You think…we're adorable?"

She pulled a face. "What, you two? No, you're disgusting. I mean really, get a room already, would you?" She gave her head a small shake. "No, I mean it's  _adorable_  that you actually think you were fooling anyone."

"Oh," he said, rubbing his neck and falling silent for a few paces, before turning to look at Solona again with a thoughtful frown. "Why haven't you said anything?"

She regarded him silently for a few seconds, and then gave him a shrug and a crooked smile. "Didn't see any harm in letting you think you were getting away with something." She waggled her eyebrows at him and her grin grew. "Adds some spice to it all, don't it?"

He coughed to cover up the laugh that shot out of him. "Uh, sure. Thanks. I think."

She chuckled and shook her head again. "No problem, lover boy."

He rolled his eyes at the teasing but couldn't help the small smile that escaped. He hadn't agreed with Elissa's decision to let Solona back out of the Joining if she so chose, but he wasn't about to argue the point, and he had to admit there was an upside. Funny how removing the threat of impending death could take the edge out of a relationship.

* * *

Levi's claims were incredible. He said that Duncan had designs on reclaiming an old Grey Warden base, Soldier's Peak. Levi was interested in the endeavor because he hoped to find evidence to clear his family's name.

The lead lit a fire in Elissa—she immediately set about planning the expedition, intending on leaving as soon as possible. She'd been at it for hours now, pouring over maps by the light of the fire, discussing the terrain and travel details with Levi, and taking inventory of what supplies they'd need for the journey.

He'd joined her for part of it, but didn't have the patience to sit there hammering out the details all night long. He'd rather hoped she would pack up her supplies any minute, ready and eager to pick up where they left off in the meadow. But, as the hours wore on, it became clear to him that she wouldn't be torn from her task quite so easily.

Finally, he rose from his seat by the fire and walked over to where she had her supplies spread out over a blanket. "Elissa? Can uh…can I talk to you for a second?"

She blinked up at him a few seconds, startled at the interruption, before a wide smile broke out over her face. "Of course," she said, getting to her feet and then taking his hand. He led her away from the fire.

"Imagine," she said breathlessly, when they finally came to a stop. "What we could find when we get there. Maker, I wonder if they have a library? Or even…" She shot a furtive glance around the camp before dropping her voice to a whisper. "…the recipe for the Joining!" She was so pretty when her face lit up like this, he couldn't help thinking as he grinned down at her. She looked up at him in confusion when he didn't say anything. "What did you want to talk to me about?"

He opened his mouth to answer, and then froze, unsure exactly what he was going to say. Earlier, in the meadow, they had had a moment where everything seemed to fall into place and he'd been swept up in the emotion of it all. But now the idea of trying to recreate that seemed daunting—especially with Elissa as distracted as she was.

He let out the breath he'd been unconsciously holding and gathered her into his arms. "I just wanted to kiss you good night," he whispered.

"Oh!" At her glance around camp, something in his chest tightened. She looked back at him a second later though and shot him a crooked smile before shrugging a shoulder. "Guess we won't need to sneak around anymore, huh?" she said, before wrapping her arms around him and thoroughly kissing him.

The tightness in his chest disappeared as he kissed her back. They'd have another moment like the one in the meadow soon. He was sure of it.

How could they not?


	40. Smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darrian becomes an unexpected guest.

_They like to get you in a compromising position_  
 _They like to get you there and smile in your face_  
 _They think, they're so cute when they got you in that condition_  
 _Well I think, it's a total disgrace  
_ _I fight authority, authority always wins_

— _Authority Song,_  John Mellencamp

Ever since Darrian could remember, the elven world had felt too small for him. No matter what his age he had towered over his peers, and though most homes in the alienage were built to human proportions, nothing else was. He was always hitting his head on shelves that were hung too low, using tools that seemed too small for his hands, and finding shoes his size once he was full grown was next to impossible.

Now, as he lay on the tiny twin bed in his father's house with Nesiara's head resting on his arm and his feet dangling off the edge, he once again felt suffocated by walls pressing in on him.

He could use some air.

Slowly he inched his arm out from behind his wife's head, fearful of waking her. She stirred in her sleep when he finally slipped free, but then rolled over onto her side without a noise. He dressed as quickly as he could in the dark before moving toward the door. The sight of his pack slung over a kitchen chair had him turning trajectory—he retrieved a small bottle from it, slipping it into his pocket before gliding outside.

It was late enough to be fully dark, but not so late that no other souls were awake. He spotted a few dim lights as he made his way down the wide expanse of mud and hard packed dirt that served as the main thoroughfare for the alienage. Occasional laughter and quiet conversations escaped open windows, and though he met few passersby as he walked, the ones that he did see all nodded at him and smiled warmly, no doubt thankful for the role he had played in ousting the Tevinter slavers.

By all appearances, things had gone back to normal. He hadn't moved back in with his father for good yet, but he spent every other night or so at home. Now that he and Zevran were regularly working with Sergeant Kylon to keep the bandit gangs out of the city, he didn't worry so much about being apprehended. His wanted posters kept reappearing, however, no matter how many times one of his friends took them down, so he had to assume at least someone in charge still desired his arrest.

At least, that was the excuse he gave for not making his return more permanent. The whole truth was a bit more…complicated.

The noise faded away as he approached the bridge that led south of the river. He grinned at the lone silhouette just barely discernible in the gloom, but the smile soon fled as he drew even with his cousin, and the worries of the evening pressed in on him again.

"I fucked up."

"Hello to you too," Soris said, turning to him and cocking up an eyebrow. "What is it now?"

Darrian leaned on the railing, looking down into the murky depths of the Drakon River below. It wasn't especially clean where it flowed through the alienage. "I slept with Nesiara."

There were a few seconds of silence, and then Soris snorted. He held up his hands in apology at Darrian's angry frown. "Sorry! Sorry. It's just…usually you get yourself in trouble sleeping with  _other_  people's wives."

"That's different," he grumbled, kicking a stone at his feet. It landed with an audible  _plop_ a second later. "This time someone could get hurt."

Soris resettled himself at the railing, putting his elbows on it. "Well," he muttered. "Their merchant husbands might see things differently."

He couldn't help snorting at that. After a few seconds of silence, he shrugged his shoulder agreeably. "Yeah, well, it's sailor husbands now." Darrian pushed off the railing and then reached into his pocket for the small bottle he'd stashed there. Undoing the cork, he gave it a quick sniff before knocking back a swallow and handing it to Soris with a wince. "'Ere."

His cousin's brow knit together for a moment, and Darrian feared he would resist temptation's call, but then it unexpectedly smoothed and Soris gave a little shrug. "Why not?"

As Soris took a tentative sip, Darrian looked out over the Denerim skyline and frowned again. "I never wanted to get married, you know."

His cousin erupted into a coughing fit as he handed the bottle back. Once it had passed he shook his head and said in a weak voice, "You could do a lot worse than Nesiara, you know." After their brush up with Vaughan, Soris had decided to settle down with Valora. He had been unenthusiastic about the marriage before the wedding, but even Darrian could see that married life suited him. "Would it really be so terrible to settle down here and start your life already?"

This was the most open part of the alienage, with few buildings to block their view of the horizon. But still, Darrian felt smothered. It was as if even the air pressed in on him. He shook his head angrily. "What if I  _have_  started my life already? Did you ever think of that? It's not like I've been sitting on my ass drinking ale all my days—I've been helping people. I've made a real difference in this city. Why isn't that good enough?"

Soris' eyes went wide at Darrian's sudden vehemence. "I never said that…I didn't mean that at all."

Venting his anger had done wonders to cool it. "Sorry, Soris. I'm sorry…I know you didn't mean it like that." He took a deep breath and rubbed his forehead. "That…I should probably have that argument with somebody else."

Soris' posture relaxed and he nodded. "You mean Uncle Cyrion."

Darrian nodded and took another pull on his bottle. "Yeah, I know…I need to talk to him. I wanted to, but then…well…I fucked up."

Nesiara and her parents had been in the cages of the Tevinter slavers. If not for Darrian and his friends' intervention, they'd be halfway to Tevinter by now, forced into a life of slavery. They were incredibly grateful and Darrian was beyond relieved to have saved everyone. He was the hero to his people, and not just the fuck up who ruined everything for everyone.

And it was great, except for one small detail. He was, to everyone else anyway, married now. Never mind that the service had been interrupted before Darrian had had a chance to say two words—in the eyes of his father, and Nesiara's family, he was a married man.

It was beyond frustrating, but while he was living in the docks district and banned from the alienage, it was a problem to be solved by some future, hopefully wiser version of himself. Problem solving was never his strong suit—he tended to approach things head on, bluntly.

But Nesiara…she complicated things. She was just so… _nice._  And not nice in the bland way that your parents talked about girls your age—she was honestly and truly nice, and nice to look at, too. He really wanted to find a solution that caused her the least amount of pain. But then, tonight…

Things kind of got away from him.

Cyrion wasn't much of a drinker, but he did have a standing appointment to have a drink with an old friend once a fortnight or so. Now that the trouble in the alienage had passed, his father had apparently resumed the habit. When Darrian had showed up at home, he'd found Nesiara there. Alone.

She'd insisted on making him dinner. Torn between wanting to be polite and wanting to flee, Darrian chose to stay—hunger helped make the decision for him, he supposed.

It had been nice. Nicer than he could have expected, really. He enjoyed talking to Nesiara, and she had been eager to please him. It had been all too easy to play house with her for an evening…

He opened the bottle and took another long drink. A glance around them had him convinced they were alone. He lowered his voice and leaned over. "Someone told me that if you don't sleep together, in the eyes of the Chantry you're not really married. You can go to them and get a null mount."

Soris' eyes narrowed as he peered up at his much taller cousin. "Do you mean an annulment?"

"Isn't that what I said?" He waved his hand dismissively. "Not that it matters anymore because like I said, I fucked up."

Soris gave a deep sigh, and was about to answer when the faint  _clip clop_ of a horse made the two elves look at each other in wonder—few who traveled near the alienage had horses.

"Put that away," Soris said in a frantic whisper, gesturing at the bottle Darrian still held.

"We're not doing anything wrong. We're allowed to just fucking  _stand_  here." Nevertheless, he capped the bottle and slipped it into his pocket at the sounds of hoof beats drew near.

The closer the noise came, the more Soris and Darrian's expression turned to confusion. The creak of a wheel could also be heard—this wasn't just a rider, but a carriage. That was a rare enough occurrence in Ferelden's alienage that Darrian found himself rooted in the spot, though in retrospect it would have been wiser to hide. The carriage drew to a stop right outside the alienage gates. After a few seconds of shuffling, the great wooden gate swung open.

Sergeant Kylon strolled into the alienage. He saw them standing on the bridge and stalked over, followed closely by two well-armed guards.

"Evening." The two elves nodded silently, sharing a wary look, and then waited to see what the Sergeant wanted. The silence stretched out between them like a taut string as Kylon turned his gaze on Darrian, narrowing his eyes and giving him a hard once-over before speaking again. "Gonna need you to come along with me, Tabris."

Darrian's hands clenched at his sides. He was weaponless and there was little he could do against three armed men. Nevertheless, he stood up to his full height and jutted out his chin. "Thought we had a deal, Kylon."

The guardsman gave a tight little smile. "It's not like that. You're not under arrest. The arl simply wants to talk to you."

_Arl?_  "What arl?"

Maybe it was a trick of the shadows, but Darrian could have sworn the other man's jaw clenched at the question. Regardless, he took a few seconds to answer. "My commander, of course. The Arl of Denerim."

Darrian crossed his hands across his chest and blinked rapidly, wishing his brain worked as fast as that highborn girl's did. "The Arl of Denerim?"

The exhale of breath might have been a sigh of frustration. "Yes, the newly appointed one, of course. Arl Howe."

"No fucking way."

The guards on either side of Kylon seemed to pulse forward as one entity, but the Sergeant held up his hand and they stilled. "I assure you that you will come to no harm, and you may leave freely once the arl has spoken with you." His hand dropped and he let it drape casually over the hilt of his longsword at his hip. "But, you  _will_  be going with us. Easy or hard—that part's up to you, Tabris."

Sergeant Kylon's voice was firm, but his eyes held something not entirely unkind in them. Not that it mattered. Darrian realized that he had no choice. He turned to Soris to find his cousin staring up at him with wide, frightened eyes.

"You're not really going back to that place are you?"

"It'll be alright," he lied, before glancing over his shoulder toward his home where he'd left his so-called wife sleeping. She probably didn't even realize he'd left yet. Turning back to Soris, he nodded at his cousin and clapped him on the shoulder with what he hoped was a reassuring smile, before following Kylon out of the gates and into the awaiting carriage.

* * *

 

Riding in a carriage was a new experience. The inside was more luxuriously appointed than any room in any home in the alienage. The little lantern that provided a warm and cozy glow also made it impossible to see beyond the darkness of the windows.

The cushioned seat was comfortable enough, though it could only do so much as the carriage jostled over pits and bumps in the rough hewn streets on this side of town. Eventually it smoothed out when they cleared the river, but the trip over cobblestones wasn't any more comfortable for Darrian Tabris.

He had a guard sitting to his right, and another across from him along with Sergeant Kylon. "That's between you and the arl," the Sergeant had said when Darrian asked what it was the man wanted from him. He fell silent after that, and no one else spoke.

By the time the carriage rumbled to a stop, Darrian's back felt slick with sweat. The guards exited and it took him a few seconds to realize they were letting him leave on his own—he had half expected to be dragged into the estate once they got here.

Still, the two guards flanked him as they made their way into the estate, through the very same side entrance he and Soris had used, what felt like an age and a half ago. He felt almost as nervous as he did that night, in spite of Kylon's assurances.

If only he could get his hands on a weapon—that would calm his butterflies. But no opportunity to acquire one seemed likely to present itself, and so he resigned himself to acting cooperative, for the time being anyway.

They led him down a few halls until they came to a wooden door with brightly lit torches hung at the wall on either side. Sergeant Kylon rapped loudly upon the door. "Come in," a voice called from inside.

Kylon opened the door and then looked expectantly at Darrian.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Darrian shuffled inside, followed closely by the guardsmen. He hadn't seen this room on his first murderous trek through the Arl of Denerim's estate. It was ornately decorated, with furniture that looked both heavy and costly. Plush rugs covered nearly the whole of the floor, and a warm fire crackled in the stone hearth. A large wooden desk sat at the far end of the room, with two chairs facing it.

There was a figure seated in one of the chairs, but Darrian's eyes were drawn to the man behind the desk. He stood when Darrian entered, smiling at him. "Darrian Tabris, at last we meet. Please, have a seat." He gestured at the empty chair in front of the desk.

Darrian remained frozen in his spot, too uncomfortable to move. It was all so surreal—there was no reason in this world that he could fathom for the Arl of Denerim to be smiling at him as if he were a treasured guest. He had never had a reputation for overthinking things, but even he knew that everything about this was deeply odd.

Before he could take a step, the figure he'd ignored in the chair turned to face him, and he felt the world drop out from beneath him.

"Son," Cyrion said with a wide smile. At Darrian's gape-mouthed stare, his father held up a hand. "I know what you are thinking, but you should listen to what the arl has to say. Please. Have a seat." He gestured with his free hand to the chair next to him; the other held a glass filled with some amber liquid.

Darrian remained rooted on the spot. "Pa…what are you  _doing_ here?"

"He's here by my invitation, of course," Arl Howe said, coming out from behind the desk. He settled himself against the front of it before waving at the guards behind Darrian. "You're dismissed."

A moment later, Darrian heard the door click behind him and realized that they were alone. He took a deliberate step forward, some vague plan of violence forming in his mind, but the voice of his father made him freeze again. "Darrian, have a seat." His father's voice was gentle, but firm, and he found his will to fight draining out of him. "Please."

The arl was smiling at them placidly, as if he had no idea he'd come within seconds of having his throat torn out with Darrian's bare hands.

With a sigh, Darrian shook his head and then flopped into the seat, scowling up at the arl.

Arl Rendon Howe was a homely creature, with a bulbous, red nose and dark, deep circles under his eyes. Smiling didn't seem to improve his features. He gestured at a glass bottle that sat on his desk. "Care for a drink?"

Darrian gave the barest shake of his head, not trusting himself to speak. His guts were churning with worry, in spite of his father's relaxed disposition. He'd heard enough rumors about the arl to be frightened. If it were just him, he would take his chances if it came down to a fight. But with his father here, everything got more complicated.

"Suit yourself," Arl Howe said with a nod, and then made his way back behind his desk. He was dressed in a fine silk shirt and vest of burgundy over dark brown wool pants. Darrien was sure that any one item the arl wore was worth more than all his wardrobe put together. "Well, then, I won't keep you in suspense any longer," he said as he pulled out his chair and sat down.

And yet he still hesitated once he settled himself, steepling his fingers under his chin and looking thoughtful for a moment that stretched on like an eternity.  _Just spit it out,_ Darrian wanted to shout, but kept his fists balled on his lap and his mouth closed.

Finally, the arl spoke. "I am sure you're curious about why I've invited you and your father here today. I wanted to thank you. You've done a great service for Denerim, and all of Ferelden, really, in ousting those Tevinter scum from our alienage."

His eyebrows shot up his forehead. "You've got to be kidding me."

Cyrion made a soft noise and was likely about to correct his son's rudeness, but Arl Howe waved him off. "Not at all." He leaned back in his chair and fixed his stare on Darrian. "The regent has many enemies, you have to understand. This whole plot was designed to discredit and embarrass him. The Crown had  _nothing_  to do with this."

Acutely aware as he was of his father's presence next to him, Darrian couldn't stop himself from scoffing. "But the Wardens have proof! They found documents with Loghain's signature—"

The arl held up a finger, like a schoolmaster correcting a misguided student. "The Wardens have  _forged_  documents, meant to discredit our liege. I assure you." The incredulous frown remained on Darrian's face so the arl inclined his head. "Surely you're aware of the precarious position Teyrn Loghain and the Queen find themselves in—we're in the midst of a Civil War, son. The Crown has  _many_  enemies."

"I'm not your son," Darrian spat out.

" _Darrian_." His father's tone was stern and displeased.

He closed his eyes and gave his head a small shake. "Sorry," he mumbled. "Er…no offense."

The arl waved a hand and said in an indulgent tone, "None taken." He gave Cyrion a sympathetic wince. "I have two sons of my own, you know. Boys can be head strong creatures, can't they?"

His resolve wavered at the good-natured chuckle that came from his father. Was he being overly paranoid? Maybe the rumors about the arl weren't true, after all. Still, he couldn't let down his guard. Not until he knew what in the Void he was doing here. And Shianni would skin him alive if he fell for some shem lord's manipulations. "So, why was the alienage shut down then, huh?" he blurted out, pleased with himself for thinking of the question.

Howe raised his arms as if surrendering. "We were just as taken in as you! We thought the threat of disease was a real one—we had no idea it was a cover for some Tevinter scheme."

A stolen glance at his father found the old elf nodding back at him encouragingly. Turning back to the arl, Darrian gave another shrug. "Alright, fine. Whatever you say. Can we go?"

His father gave a sigh. "Darrian—"

The arl leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "Darrian Tabris, in recognition of your help in resolving this situation, the Crown is issuing you a full pardon—all your crimes will be forgotten and forgiven."

His mouth hung open and he sat there, blinking at the arl for a solid five seconds. "What's the catch?" he said at last.

Cyrion started to say something but then gave a small cough, and then another. He gestured at the arl to go on.

The arl smiled again. "Those documents, however false they might be, could prove to be somewhat…embarrassing, were they to fall in the wrong hands. The Wardens have their own vendetta against Loghain, but I would like the opportunity to explain to them." He laced his fingers together as if in prayer. "I know you are friends. I would like you to bring the Wardens to me, so that I might convince them of their mistake."

He felt like his eyes were going to bulge out of his head. Bring the Wardens to Howe? He couldn't help it—a laugh shot out of him. "Are you kidding? There's no way they'd ever agree to meet you."

His father cleared his throat and gave another cough. "Darrian, just think…your crime would be pardoned. You could start your life again—"

He whirled to face him. "I can't believe you're supporting this. If it weren't for Elissa and Alistair, you'd still be in that cage!"

"The arl only wants to talk to them! He doesn't mean them any harm."

Darrian doubted that. But in any case, it didn't matter. He turned back to the arl, ignoring the pleading look his father gave him. "Yeah, well, even if I did want to help you, I can't. I don't know where the Wardens are." He was never more thrilled to tell the truth. The Wardens hadn't told him where they were staying, and since that night in the alienage, he hadn't seen them.

"But what about that foreign friend of yours?" Cyrion suggested, and Darrian stifled a groan as he turned to look at his father. The old elf hacked again, covering his mouth with his hand. Stifling his coughs, he went on. "Surely he could get a message to the Wardens, if you asked?"

He opened his mouth to reply, but never got the chance. Another coughing fit overtook his father, growing more alarming with every wheezing hack. Finally, he watched in horror as his father's entire body suddenly went stiff, and his eyes rolled back in his head. Feeling frozen from shock he watched stupefied as the glass rolled out of Cyrion's hand and on to the carpet with a dull  _thud_  followed by the limp body of Cyrion himself.

"No!" he cried, finally able to move. He darted out of his chair to his father's side, kneeling on the ground and cradling Cyrion's head in his hands. "Pa? Pa! Wake up, Pa. Wake up!"

A throaty chuckle drew his attention back to the man sitting behind the desk. His spiteful grin didn't register in Darrian's shock-filled mind. "Get a healer, would you? Please!"

"Oh, I'm afraid your father is quite beyond the help of any healer now," the arl said, arching one eyebrow. He reached into a vest pocket and fished around for something for a few seconds, before his hand emerged with a small, black vial. "I'm afraid the only cure for what ails your poor father is found in this little bottle."

Darrian stared dumbly at the bottle in his hand, not comprehending anything. He looked around in a daze until his eyes landed on the overturned glass a few feet from him, and finally he understood. "Poison," he said with a shaky breath. "You poisoned my father."

The grin that covered the arl's ugly face turned smug. "Yes, well, I find a carrot  _and_  a stick work better in tandem than either do alone."

He wasn't really listening to the words as white-hot rage bubbled through his veins. With a wordless growl he let go of his father and leapt, intent on obtaining the little black vial the Arl held no matter what he had to do.

An unseen force jerked him out of his leap and he crumpled in agony on the floor. His blood  _burned_  in his veins and he writhed in wordless pain, his vision tunneling to just one spot on the carpet. Every muscle in his body ached with pain. Finally the force relented and he was left there panting, too exhausted to lift himself off the floor. He could turn his head, however, and when he did he saw a robed figure emerge from the back corner of the room.

"Blood magic is a very useful practice...even more useful in combination with Illusion magic, wouldn't you say Ragnar?"

The mage must have used magic to hide himself, some foggy part of Darrian's mind realized. The figure removed his cowl and revealed a man with short cropped hair and a neat beard. "Indeed, my lord."

It took all of his strength, but Darrian managed to move himself closer to his father and used the chair to drag himself to a sitting position. The mage and the arl watched him, clearly not considering him a threat in his current condition. He would have liked to prove them wrong, but he knew he was out matched.

Once again he cradled his father's head in his hands. Cyrion gave a low moan and shifted, but otherwise didn't wake up.

The arl stood and came out from behind the desk. He came to within a few feet of Darrian and then stooped to pick up the empty glass. It hadn't shattered when it fell to the floor, cushioned as it was by the plush rug. Howe held up the glass and examined it in the light. " _Black Valerian_. It's a delicate little flower. It only grows on one mountain in Seheron, and it blossoms for a single day in an entire year." The arl's tone was filled with awe and reverence as he gazed at the glass. He set it down on the desk with a clink. "Do you know what is so special about the poison made from this flower?"

The bloodf rushing in his ears made it hard for him to follow the arl's words, let alone  _think_. He shook his head, not taking his eyes off his father's pale face.

"It kills  _slowly_. More slowly than any other poison I've ever heard of. Your father will linger in that state for…well, for as long as he can live without food or water, I suppose," he said with a shrug, his tone making it evident how little he cared.

It sparked the anger inside of him again and it took all of his resolve not to use his regained strength to leap to his feet and take another shot at murdering the arl, even if it would mean dying to the blood mage's magic. What stopped him wasn't the fear of a gruesome death. No, Howe had said that the bottle in his hand was the only cure for his father. He had to do whatever it took to get that little bottle. "What do you  _want_  from me?"

The arl blinked down at him in surprise, as if only just then remembering his presence. After a beat he grinned widely. "Why, I want the Wardens, of course. I want you to deliver them to me."

His throat was dry as he shook his head. "I told you. I don't know where they are, and even if I did, they would never agree to meet you." He licked his lips, feeling his pulse throb in his throat. "But…if I were to venture a guess, I'd say they were camped somewhere outside of the city." Zevran always left by the Western gate. It seemed a good guess.

"Hmm, yes, I see." The arl rubbed his chin. "Trouble is, well…these Warden friends of yours…they've managed to garner quite a reputation." His eyes narrowed and he looked off in the distance. "I don't think they'd let themselves be taken alive, and for my purposes…I very much need them alive." The sneer on his face sent a thread of ice through Darrian's chest. Howe fell silent a moment, appearing lost in thought and making him wonder what dark plan he had in store for Elissa and Alistair. When Howe spoke again he was unsure whether it was to himself or to Darrian. "Why do they linger so in the city? What is it that they expect to find here?"

"I don't know. I'm sorry, I just don't know! They haven't told me anything, I swear. Can you please just…just give me that little bottle? The one you said would cure him?"

"The antidote," Howe murmured absentmindedly.

"Yeah, sure. The antidote." Darrian blinked in confusion. It wasn't a word he'd heard before, and yet it sounded oddly familiar.

There must have been something telling in his expression because he finally got the arl's attention. Howe frowned down at him. "What is it? Speak,  _knife-ear._ "

He barely flinched at the insult, having grown accustomed to hearing the slur thrown at him on practically a daily basis since he'd moved to the docks. He opened his mouth and then closed it, before shaking his head and taking a deep breath. "Alright, maybe it's nothing but…this one time, Zevran—uh, that's the Antivan Crow you all hired to kill Alistair and Elissa? Um, I guess…I guess that failed, huh?" The arl's eyes narrowed and Darrian went on in a rush. "Ordinarily all we do is go out and kill bandits but one time he took me with him to meet this Antivan shem in the Marketplace." He licked his lips. "I didn't really pay attention to it because they spoke Antivan and I didn't understand it. 'Cept…" He hesitated, feeling guilty for the betrayal, however futile and small it ended up to be. But then Cyrion stirred in his hands and his throat closed up with fear. He had to try to get his father out of this. It was all his fault…

"Go on."

The sharpness in Howe's tone made his head jerk up. "Right…well, it's just…there's one word that I remember them saying now…I'm almost sure of it. They both said the word… _antídoto_." The arl stared at him blankly for a heart beat and Darrian winced. "I mean…you don't suppose that's the Antivan word for antidote, do you?"

Howe's eyebrows climbed his forehead and his eyes went wide as he stared down at Darrian. " _Antídoto?_ " he repeated, and then looked off in the distance with that far off stare again. "Clever girl." He gave a low chuckle that turned into a throaty laugh that made Darrian grimace. It sounded more than a little unhinged. When the arl's gaze landed back on him there was something vicious in his glee. "Oh, what a sweet irony." He shook his head, as if struggling to stifle his amusement.

His legs were going numb from sitting like this, but he still felt rooted to the spot. He kept his gaze on the little black bottle the arl still held. "So, is that it then? Can I have it now?"

Howe shook his head and pocketed the vial, and Darrian's stomach sank. He moved behind the desk again, and started rummaging for some papers. "Not quite, Tabris. Not quite. Your clue has been most helpful, but you won't earn the antidote quite that easily." As he spoke, he retrieved a paper from a desk drawer with an  _ah ha_ , and then dotted a quill with ink and wrote something on the parchment. He stared down at his work when he was finished, looking pleased with himself for a few seconds before his smile turned into a frown. "But how to ensure that  _she_  is there?" he muttered to himself. "Oh!" He scratched some more writing onto the paper, and then scattered some sand over the letters to help the ink dry. "This," he said, gesturing at the document on the desk, "is a guest list for an event at my estate in one fortnight. You will ensure that this guest list finds its way into the Warden's hands."

He picked up the paper and blew on it, and seeming satisfied that the ink was dry, folded it up and came around the desk. He offered it to Darrian.

Darrian stared at his hand, but made no move to take the paper yet. "That's it? Just make sure they get this piece of paper?"

Howe nodded. "You'll be paid with the antidote when the Wardens are in my custody," he said with smile that looked more like a snarl. He nodded at the document he held in his hand. "If Elissa is as clever as she says, this ought to be enough to draw her out."

Darrian reached out and took the paper, feeling his stomach twist in on itself. "How am I supposed to have gotten this anyway?"

Howe gave an impatient snort. "Surely you can figure  _some_ part of this plan out on your own, can't you?"

* * *

 

"What am I going to do?" Darrian buried his face in his hands.

"What do you mean what are you going to do? You're going to get that fucking guest list into the fucking Warden's hands, that's what you're going to do," Shianni hissed at him.

"Keep your voices down," Soris whispered, shooting a nervous look over his shoulder to the back of the small house, where Nesiara sat with his uncle. "If you want to keep her out of it then you two have to keep quiet!"

The three elves were sitting at the kitchen table. Darrian had arrived back home to find both cousins and Nesiara awake and waiting for him. They'd all flown into action at the sight of his father, resting limply in his arms. He'd explained at first that Cyrion had fallen ill, but after he'd settled his father in a bed and left his "wife" to watch over him, he had taken his cousins aside and told them the real story.

"It's not that simple," he whispered, leaning forward. Soris sat at his right and Shianni at his left. They both mimicked his movement and leaned in. "How am I supposed to have obtained this stupid guest list anyway?" Shianni started to say something but he held up his hand. "You don't know them…These people are fucking  _scary,_ Shianni."

His cousin could be contained no longer. "Are you kidding me?  _You're_  fucking scary, Darrian! Or at least you are when you aren't being a squalling little piss baby—"

" _Shianni._ " Her brother shot her a warning look.

Darrian waved a hand impatiently. "I don't mean scary just like, they can kill me scary. I mean scary  _smart_. Nobody can keep a secret from Elissa."

"What, that posh shem? She can't be  _that_  smart—"

"She is, but even if she weren't, there's still another problem. Zevran—he's an Antivan Crow…you think  _I'm_  going to be able to pull off a lie like this to him?"

Shianni stared at him with an angry scowl for a few seconds, before looking away with a sigh. She had to concede his point—when they were kids, all that a grown up would have to do was just look at Darrian and he'd confess all of his and his friends' mischief. He was horrible at lying.

They sat there in silence for a few moments, while Darrian stared miserably down at the piece of paper that had thrown his life into so much turmoil. "I'm just not smart enough to pull off this kind of stunt against the Wardens."

Shianni drummed her fingers on the table a few times, before snatching up the guest list.

"Hey—" he started to protest.

"You might not be smart enough," Shianni said, staring at the piece of paper intently. "But luckily, you're related to me."

He and Soris shared a look, and for the first time in many hours, Darrian felt a twinge of hope. "You got an idea?"

She stared at the paper for a few moments longer before folding it, sticking it in her pocket of her dress, and getting to her feet. "The trick is," she said, moving toward the door. "We've got to find a way to make them work for it…make them believe this was a well fought for  _clue._ "

Darrian got to his feet as Shianni opened up the door. "What are you going to do?"

She looked out through the opened door with a thoughtful frown. "I don't know yet." She turned, and shot her family a smirk. "But I'll figure it out."

With that she slipped out of the house and shut the door behind her.

Darrian turned to stare at his cousin. "She'll think of something," Soris repeated.

With a grimace, Darrian sat back down at the table, and pulled out the bottle he still had in his pocket. He uncorked it and took a long pull before passing it to Soris. "Let's hope so," he muttered, stealing another glance toward the back of the small house, where his father lie in a sleep no one could wake him from. "For all of our sakes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading (and for subscribing and kudos and especially comments)! Thanks too, to Riptide Monzarc and genginger, who have helped look over my stuff before I post it.


	41. Peak, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang arrives at the Keep, but not before Elissa and Alistair share some tent time. Things don't go as either of them envisioned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much thanks to both Riptide Monzarc and Caraine, who both offered comments and suggestions that were immensely helpful in finishing this chapter.
> 
> Thanks again to everyone who is reading. I really appreciate hearing from you!

 

_There is love in your body but you can't get it out_  
 _It gets stuck in your head, won't come out of your mouth_  
 _Sticks to your tongue and shows on your face  
_ _That the sweetest of words have the bitterest taste_

— _The Hardest of Hearts,_ Florence + the Machine

Waking up with Alistair's arm draped over her, realizing that he was still nestled up close, feeling his breath on the back of her head—these were all experiences Elissa was coming to cherish. She had never been one to linger long abed after dawn had broken, but lately she found herself remaining languid in her sleeping partner's embrace for as long as she could.

Not that she'd had all that many opportunities. She had set off with Alistair, Solona, her mabari and the merchant Levi for Soldier's Peak three days ago. They had only two tents among them, and while she would have loved to share a tent with Alistair, she didn't think she could ask Solona to bunk with a near-stranger of the opposite sex.

It was more than a little frustrating.

She should have crawled into bed with him their last night in camp, she had realized, too late for it to do any good. But she had been practicing patience when it came to Alistair—she didn't want to pressure him into anything and, what's more, she wanted to avoid another opportunity for rejection at all costs.

So she had vowed to herself that the when and where of their 'first time' would be left up to Alistair to determine, though in truth, Elissa thought it was a rather arbitrary designation. She did not understand why one particular intimate act with their bodies could mean so much. What about all the other things they'd done to and with each other in the last few weeks? They'd done a rather thorough exploration of each other's bodies so far—at least, as much as they could while still wearing most of their clothing, tucked away in a little alcove in the marketplace.

She was  _beyond_  ready to take their physical relationship further, but regardless on her ideas on the subject, Alistair was a bit more provincial in his sensibilities. It meant a lot to  _him_  and so, for his sake, she had been patient. And that strategy had seemed to work. After what felt like an eternity, she thought he at last seemed ready to take the next big step.

Now, all they needed was the opportunity. She figured it would have to wait, what with their tent situation, and so it had been a pleasant surprise to wake up the first morning to find Alistair curled up with her. "What are you doing here?" she had whispered as he nuzzled her ear.

"Well," he said, and his breath tickled her skin in a  _most_  appealing way. "Solona relieved me for watch and I realized you were alone in the tent and I just thought…" He went still. "Is this alright?"

"Maker, yes," she breathed out, before turning around and pressing her lips against his. They'd only lingered in their bedrolls a short while that morning, since a few moments later they heard Levi and Solona puttering around right outside the tent. Still, the idea had been planted. She tried to stay awake the next night for when Alistair came in the tent, but their long day of walking through steadily rising terrain exhausted her and she couldn't fight falling asleep, or sleeping in too late to do more than share a few drowsy kisses the next morning.

What she wouldn't give for an hour of uninterrupted privacy.

This morning, when Elissa's eyes opened, the light that filtered through the tent's walls was wan. It must still be quite early, she realized as she blinked herself awake. She inhaled deeply, flexing her muscles and pressing her body back where she felt Alistair lying flush against her. At least one part of him was awake already, she thought, biting her lip to stifle a chuckle. Her pulse quickened as she tried to guess the exact hour—perhaps the two of them might have enough time alone…

She lifted her head and tried to peer out the slit in the tent flap as best she could, looking for shadows moving around the camp that would let her know who else was awake.

"It's early," Alistair mumbled, and then tightened his arm around her waist and drew her back to him.

"You're awake? Why didn't you wake me?" she admonished, settling on her side against Alistair. She tilted her head, exposing her neck in what she hoped was an inviting display of flesh.

Almost immediately he began peppering her skin with feather-light kisses. Soft lips and scratchy whiskers combined to provide a delicious tingle that worked its way through her body. "Who says I didn't?"

She closed her eyes and gave a slight frown, trying to remember. "I was dreaming…" The images flitted away from her, but she half remembered a conversation. "Something about a gift…and the archdemon?" At that, Alistair froze, and she shook her head and turned over to face him. "Look at me…babbling about awful dreams when I could be doing something  _so_  much more interesting with this mouth of mine…"

She relished the blush that her words elicited and smiled as Alistair's eyes went wide. "I do like the way you think, have I ever told you that?"

Pressing herself up against him, she said with a husk of breath, "Let's not talk."

Mercifully Alistair met her lips in a hungry kiss.  _Maker,_ did she love her mornings with Alistair. He was…not aggressive really—he would never be  _aggressive_. But he was playful and willing and  _adorable_  with his bed-tousled hair and drowsy ardor. It was easy to lose herself in his embrace. When she was with Alistair like this, she didn't  _think_. Her overactive, cluttered mind calmed when he kissed her—it seemed to completely stop working once his hands started roaming over her body.

This morning was no different. Her mind was blissfully fogged by passion—she didn't stop to think about what exactly they were  _doing_  until she found herself almost naked, her nightgown tossed to a corner of the tent along with the loose cotton pants Alistair had worn to bed.

Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of him. They had seen each other before, of course, in various states of undress, but never quite  _fully_  undressed—not until this morning. Not at all to her surprise, she found that he was even sexier without any clothes on—as her gaze traveled down the sculpted muscles of his chest and abdomen she felt her desire intensify, felt like she was near to  _aching_  for him to just…to just get  _on_  with it already.

But Alistair had gone still next to her. She had expected him to blush and glance away at the sight of her nakedness, to stammer out something adorable and funny. But he didn't do any of those things. Instead, as he sat next to where she lay, his gaze traveled down her form with a sort of awe—almost  _reverence_ , Elissa thought, but of course that was absurd wasn't it?

She felt oddly nervous under his scrutiny. She didn't know what to do with her hands—part of her wanted to cover up her exposed breasts, but what was the point of that? So she settled for first resting them on her stomach and then placing them at her sides. A blush was crawling its way across her cheek and for reasons Elissa couldn't begin to fathom she felt profoundly self-conscious as Alistair lay down beside her.

It wasn't insecurity. Objectively speaking, she knew she was attractive—her body's proportions were well within the normal range of what men were supposed to consider desirable, and besides, she'd been called  _beautiful_  enough times to put some stock in the notion. Plus, she saw the way men's eyes lingered on her, especially when they thought she wasn't wary…

But no one had ever looked at her quite the way  _Alistair_  was looking at her now. "Maker's breath, you're beautiful." No one had ever called her  _beautiful_  in quite that way, either. His voice was rich and steady. How could he be so impossibly calm when her own heart beat a painful staccato against her chest? She feared he would able to hear it.

"So are you," she found herself answering, ashamed at how shaky her voice sounded.

He kissed her then, and although she was always a little breathless when they kissed, the way he kissed her now made the world seem to spin. He touched her in slow, deliberate movements, holding her face in his hands and softly exploring her lips with a feather-light touch. It made her feel like she was drowning, drowning in emotion she usually could quell with a frenzied sort of passion and a flurry of demanding kisses. But this morning it was Alistair who set the pace, and he was far more controlled than she had ever pictured, when she had allowed herself to fantasize about this moment.

Had he kissed her with his eyes open before? Elissa didn't think so. But now he did, and she fancied that she could  _feel_  his gaze ghost over her face. He was studying her— _observing_  her, like a scholar studied an artifact whose secrets he wanted to uncover. She watched him, watching her, and as she did a thought bubbled up from her subconscious, as suddenly crystalline as it was earth-shattering in its simple truth: Alistair was in love with her.

Alistair was  _deeply_ in love with her. She had known that, of course…she'd  _known_  on some level, what…what might occur if she indulged in this sort of dalliance. But it was the kind of knowing she kept to the back of her mind. It had always felt safer for her conscious self to ignore this particular conclusion. The fact only brought up more questions… questions that made her stomach twist in uncertainty.

Carefully, he moved so that he was lying on top of her, propping himself up enough so that he didn't crush her with all his weight. Their eyes met again, and as  _she_ studied his face, the way his eyes crinkled just  _so_ when he smiled down at her, the way he looked like he was trying to savor every single sensation that being with her provided—it only confirmed her conclusion. Alistair  _loved_  her, and she…and she…

His hand trailed down her side until his fingertip met the edge of her smallclothes.

…and she suddenly couldn't breathe  _at all._

What was wrong with her? The moment that she had waited for was upon her, and Elissa never wanted to flee so badly in all of her life. The words came out in a choked sort of gasp before she could stop them. "Maybe we shouldn't."

Alistair froze and pulled back, warm brown-gold eyes gone wide, the surety that had belonged to his every gesture wavering. He licked his lips. "We shouldn't?" His voice went up an octave in surprise. She knew her answer was rather urgently needed, but she could only lie there, staring up at him with her mouth open, unable to breathe a single word. He blinked a few times. "Yeah. Right. I mean…" She could see the knot move in his throat. "Levi and Solona could be…could be right outside."

"Yeah," she managed to say in a breathless whisper and then froze again, because Alistair still hadn't moved. He was looming over her and for one insane second she wondered if he would ( _wished he would?_ ) simply ignore her reservations and just…but of course, he wouldn't. Nor would she want him to. Not really.

He seemed to come to, snatching his hand away from her. "Uh, right. So…some clothes. Yeah, clothes would be good."

They dressed in silence and Elissa was sure that the temperature in the tent rose ten degrees from the heat that was emanating from her face. She should have said  _something_  by now, certainly, but no words came to mind. How could she possibly explain her actions when she didn't fully understand them herself?

_He must think I'm mad._

"Alright, well…I guess…guess I'll go pop down to the stream for a quick bath." He ran his hand through his hair as he sat up. He had dressed faster than Elissa would have thought possible. She was still struggling to pull her head through her nightgown when he spoke.

She pulled it down and ran a hand over her head—Leliana had braided her hair into a crown before she left, but now it was a mess, and she was sure she had many strands sticking out of it all akimbo. "You'll…you'll freeze," she managed to get out.

"Yeah. I mean, no. I mean…I'll talk to you later." He leaned over and hesitated for the span of a breath before planting a quick kiss on her head and then bolting out of the tent.

At least he'd kissed her goodbye. She tried to hold onto that fact as she lay back down and stared at the canvas above her, blinking away in annoyance at the hot tears that prickled at her eyes.

_What in the Void is wrong with me?_

* * *

"Archers!"

Elissa saw them too—they were positioned on the other side of the bridge that connected the two the upper floor of Warden's Keep with a tall tower. She was already rolling to a position behind Alistair and the cover afforded by his new Grey Warden shield when his shout rang out. Solona was only a footstep behind her.

"I can't move from cover to cast—"

"I'm on it!" Elissa's palm closed around the fourth vial strung on the leather sash she wore across her chest. She yanked it off and then waited for the next flurry of arrows. As soon as they landed, she darted out of cover and threw the vial. Straight and true, it landed square in the middle of the bridge, shooting billowy smoke out around it. Elissa heard a tell-tale metallic snap when the vial broke open.

"Hold!" she yelled, squinting in the bright light.  _There—_ she saw them. "This bridge is trapped from here to the other side. Hold position!"

Alistair and Solona heeded her warning and waited for a few seconds for the undead to reach them. Even Prince stayed back, growling at his mistress's side with hackles raised as the enemy closed in. The merchant, Levi, huddled just inside the Keep's doorway, keeping well clear of combat as he had during their entire trek through the Keep. Elissa had pressed an ancient crossbow into the man's hand at one point, so he could at least have one means of defending himself should the worst happen, with the stern warning not to shoot  _no matter what_  if any of the companions were anywhere at all within range of the bolt. So far, he hadn't fired it once.

With a ringing clang, Alistair's sword lashed out at the first corpse to come too close, and Elissa's focus sharpened on the battle in front of her. Her talent with blades had improved vastly since the last time she faced off against undead, but these corpses were so desiccated, she found herself at a disadvantage. Her training had conditioned her to strike out at the weakness of flesh—arteries and organs that once severed or punctured would fail to sustain life. The flesh that would have clung to these corpses, however, had long since rotted away, leaving only hardened bone behind.

So, she was forced to adapt. Waiting for Solona to freeze the creatures helped, and since the mage had acquired her frosty staff, the potency of her ice spells had seemed to improve. But, there was a limit to how frequently Solona could cast a particular spell, so more often than Elissa would have liked she found herself hacking at bony joints, dulling her daggers in an attempt to at least dismember the corpses, even if she couldn't outright destroy them. The occasional boost from Solona's beneficial spells didn't hurt in that endeavor—after each, she would find her blows landing in scarily accurate bursts of strength. Elissa also carried her usual grab bag of useful items with her, and so the entire group benefited from her supply of balms, potions, poultices and especially  _bombs_. She felt fairly confident that her munitions had turned the tide in at least a few of the battles they'd fought so far.

The smoke bomb bought them a few moments of obscurity, but the wind was strong up here and it would soon dissipate. Those archers would soon prove meddlesome again. Seeing an opening, Elissa twirled and kicked, striking the skeleton she fought squarely in the chest and sending it bony ass over skull over the side of the bridge, plummeting to the snowy depths below.

"Brilliant!" Solona shouted as she shot a bolt of arcane energy at the closest corpse. Elissa had to stifle a laugh as she sheathed her blades and dodged around a half circle of enemies that were focused on Alistair, darting to a trap that was still armed. The smoke was clearing, but she was close enough to send a vial of fire into the midst of the skeletal archers that gathered at the opposite end of the bridge. The blast knocked the undead off their feet. In the time that afforded her, Elissa disarmed a pair of claw traps, trusting that Alistair could handle his opponents and that Solona, too, would know what to do with the precious extra seconds she'd given them.

Sure enough, just as Elissa moved to disarm a third trap, Solona caught up to her and managed to cast a wall of ice at the skeletons which were closing in. The spell had the added effect of blocking the two women from the view of the archers at the end of the bridge.

"Great work!" Elissa shouted, leaping to her feet and pulling her modified crossbow from her back. Just then Alistair roared past her, barreling into the ice wall with a fury that shattered two of the corpses on impact. Elissa raced up to meet him and then aimed her crossbow and shot two bolts out in quick succession—at this range, the powerful bolts could shatter a skull on impact. Two of the four archers crumpled into bony piles when her shots struck true.

Prince howled and the mournful wail reverberated through the icy valley, bouncing back at them in haunting tones. It bought them all just a few more seconds as the enemy stood stunned—so much of battle came down to that, Elissa was coming to realize—allowing Alistair to smash through the last frozen corpse, and Solona to knock back the two remaining archers with her mind blast.

It was short work after that, and when the final skeleton fell in a clattering heap at Alistair's feet, they all breathed a collective sigh of relief.

_Just another battle fought and won by Ferelden's only living Grey Wardens._ Something tickled at the base of Elissa's skull.  _Or are we?_

As she stood on the bridge catching her breath, the afternoon sun peeked out from behind the clouds, glinting white against the silver on Alistair and Solona's new Grey Warden uniforms. Her two partners struck her as especially heroic looking, even battle weary and scuffed as they were, standing on the bridge in the bright sun that made her eyes water. While she hoped the old Warden's Keep offered more than just new uniforms, even if  _that_  was all they got out of the trip, Elissa would have to count them fortunate. Solona was certain they were enchanted, and as Elissa regarded the pristine blue and silver of her own leathers, she had to agree that something more than just a musty wardrobe had preserved the garments over the years since the Peak had been occupied.

Maybe the armor was enchanted, maybe it wasn't, but even Elissa couldn't deny that the three of them—four when you counted Prince (and she felt no small amount of pride that she could count him now separately without qualm) were fighting as a well-coordinated team.

They valued each other's tactics, and fought with an understanding of what each individual could bring to the fight. As she drew even with her companions it occurred to her that it was even more than that. The three of them worked well outside of battle, too. "I'd like to say something," she said in a voice that commanded attention.

Both Solona and Alistair looked at her with wide eyes. "Something on your mind?" Alistair said after a beat.

"Yes…back there…with the demon. Neither of you batted an eyelash when I offered to make a deal." Sophia Dryden's body had been possessed by a demon, they discovered upon making it to the top level of the Keep. It insisted that it would help seal the Veil and rid the Keep of its demon infestation, if only they would investigate the Tower across the bridge, and destroy whatever they found there. Not wanting to decide until she knew more, Elissa had readily agreed. "Why?"

Levi mumbled something under his breath she didn't quite catch as Alistair and Solona shared a look. They both shrugged. "I figure… you have a plan, right?" Alistair said, cocking up one eyebrow, and then offering a wry grin. "You  _always_  have a plan."

The sunlight that glinted off the snow was making her eyes tear up. "Yes," Elissa said, looking away and clearing her throat. "Anyway, thanks," she added softly, and tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear before turning and focusing her attention on the heavy wooden door in front of them. Frowning, she tilted her head to the side, as if listening for something. "Do you have any guesses as to what we'll find on the other side of this door?"

She addressed her question to the door, but Solona answered. "It's a mage. Definitely."

"But…that's impossible, right?" Alistair's voice sounded more inquisitive than unsure. "You saw the state of the downstairs…no one has been here in a century."

"And yet?" Elissa turned around and met Alistair's eye, shooting him a knowing look.

"What?" Solona's head snapped back and forth between the two Wardens.

Alistair heaved a sigh. "There's a Grey Warden on the other side of that door," he admitted, confirming what Elissa's own senses told her.

Solona's mouth fell open, but then she snapped it shut. "It's the one from our visions then, I'd bet my hands on it." Specters of battles past had accompanied them as they trekked deeper into the old Warden Keep. The visions had not told a flattering tale of the Wardens who had held their ground here—it looked as if the Order had turned to summoning demons in its most desperate hour. Hardly the name-clearing proof Levi was looking for.

Alistair shook his head. "How can that be? He'd have to be  _long_ since dead."

"You ever hear the saying, if it looks like a duck, talks like a duck, and walks like a duck, it's probably a duck?"

Elissa snorted. "That's a tortured way of expressing a rather simple but elegant principle which states that the most obvious explanation is more often the correct one." She bit her lip and looked at the door before turning back to her companions. "Anyone fancy a duck hunt?"

Levi hung back as they opened the door. "I'll just…wait back here, to make sure nothing sneaks up on us."

The three Wardens exchanged knowing smirks as they entered the darkened tower.

* * *

Solona turned out to be right, but none of them felt particularly good about it. The mage Grey Warden whose presence they'd deduced did in fact exist, against every law of time and nature, and it was  _his_  efforts that kept the demon possessing Sophia Dryden trapped in the Keep. There was a part of Elissa's mind that grew worried at how easily she had started to accept such outlandish developments, but after all she had experienced her capacity for shock was quite diminished.

"So, you turned to demon-summoning, and to absolutely no one's surprise, that didn't work out for you?" Even Elissa could detect the sarcasm in Alistair's tone.

The skin of Avernus's face looked like it was stretched too thinly over his skull, and when he smiled or grimaced or made any expression at all it only made it worse. He narrowed his eyes at Alistair. "I had considered the possibility of failure. I admit that so many demons breaking free was…more catastrophic than I had postulated." He shrugged, letting his gaze wander around the laboratory where they'd discovered him. "But my course was clear. I had to get to safety to contain the demonic threat."

It was a dreadful tale, including a tyrant and a fallen hero and yet another poor decision made by a mage. Elissa asked the requisite questions to put the pieces into place—after the Wardens fell both to their own demonic hubris and the forces of the tyrant king, Avernus had hid himself away in this tower, and with the help of his research (and, apparently, blood magic) he had managed to both  _contain the demonic threat_  and unnaturally extend his own life.

It was awful, of course, that Avernus had used human test subjects in his insane research into the darkspawn Taint, but it mattered little to Elissa  _now._  She secured a promise from him to help seal the Veil—given the choice between a demon-possessed ghoul, or a maleficar with centuries of Warden knowledge and darkspawn research under his belt, Elissa knew which one she'd side with. She also made him promise to give Levi information about his great-great-grandmother. She didn't think Avernus could provide the familial redemption Levi craved, but at least she had fulfilled her obligation to the merchant, who still cowered outside, too afraid to enter the Tower until the Wardens deemed it safe.

With those important priorities out of the way, Elissa felt free to finally ask the questions that had been burning in her mind since she first heard about Soldier's Peak.

"Now," she said. "About the Joining..."

Avernus's eyebrows rose and his gaze flicked from Solona back to her. "Don't you think such questions should wait until after we've sealed the Veil and taken care of Sophia?"

Elissa shook her head. "By my estimation you're somewhere in the neighborhood of a hundred and fifty years old…I'm not going to take the chance that you drop dead in the next twenty minutes or so."

The old mage's lips quirked and he acquiesced with a nod. "Very well. The alchemy required is not difficult, but the process does require some rather advanced Creation magic," he said, eyes darting again to Solona. "It is…generally not recommended for non-Wardens to become involved…the risk of contamination is quite high…"

Stealing a glance at Solona out of the corner of her eye and seeing her pale, Elissa waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. "Let us worry about that," she said. Ever since Elissa had given her the choice whether or not to truly Join the Wardens, Solona had seemed to grow more receptive to the idea. She'd objected, at first, when Elissa urged her to don the silver and blue vestments they'd found, but Elissa insisted that wearing the uniform of the Grey Warden would help protect her from accusations of apostasy and so Solona had accepted them. They  _had_  to be an improvement over the shabby faded blue apprentice robes she'd been wearing, and Elissa didn't think she'd imagined the way Solona's spine had straightened when she put on her new robes.

The last thing she needed now was to scare Solona away from her newfound interest in the Wardens, but if a mage was required, Solona was the obvious choice. Elissa gestured with a nod at Solona. "You can teach the spells to her?"

"If she has the requisite ability in that school of magic…" Avernus gave a nonchalant shrug. "Yes. Little good that it will do you."

"Why?"

He gave a drawn out sigh, as if the confession pained him. "Because, I'm afraid acquiring the necessary ingredients will prove arduous."

A growl of frustration escaped her. It was just as she had feared. "You mean acquiring Archdemon blood, don't you?" She cast her gaze around the laboratory in an angry scan. "You used it all? In your experiments?"

Avernus spread his arms in front of him, palms facing her. "I'm afraid that's true. I used the very last bit of it not too long ago—"

"You didn't think maybe it would be important to save the means to perform more Joinings?" She wanted to spit, or scream, or slap someone. To have come so close only to be told that it was impossible. She shook her head in mute frustration, before a thought occurred to her. "Wait…there must be some substitute that can be used. There simply has to be! Otherwise, how would the first Grey Wardens ever have been made?"

The smile that stretched over Avernus's face was one a tutor might give to a student. "You are correct, of course," he said, sounding impressed. He clasped his hands in front of him. "The blood of the Archdemon is the most potent physical manifestation of the metaphysical concept we call the  _Taint._ " Elissa heard Alistair give a frustrated sigh behind her, but she kept her gaze on Avernus and prayed he wouldn't interrupt. "As such, it's the most convenient mechanism for performing the Joining ritual, but it isn't the only one. Given a high enough quantity, the blood of regular darkspawn can be concentrated. And that concentrated mixture can be used in place of Archdemon blood."

"Well that's…something," Alistair said, shooting Elissa a quizzical look.

"Just how much blood is required?"

"One drop of Archdemon blood is usually required for a single Joining cup. That can be replicated with between ten and twenty vials of blood."  _That doesn't sound so bad._  Her face must've reflected her optimism, for Avernus was quick to raise a hand in warning. "The process itself requires powerful Creation magic and carries, again, a great risk of acquiring the Taint." His eyes darted to Solona.

"Oh. Right." Elissa tried not to let her sinking disappointment show. She wanted the means to perform the Joining ritual at the very least as a safeguard against any of her companions contracting the Blight sickness. It wasn't a foolproof cure, and there'd be risk of death anyway, but it was an option she would rather have had than not. However, she had promised Solona that Joining would be her choice, and she didn't want the mage feeling obligated to create the mixture and potentially Taint herself. She also didn't want her prospects for creating new Wardens to rest solely on Solona's shoulders. "If we brought you the vials of blood, could  _you_ create the Joining mixture for us?"

"Indeed…though I'm afraid finding darkspawn in these parts has proved difficult. They don't seem to get up here much, and you'll need fresh vials."

Elissa brought her hand up to pinch the bridge of her nose. It was hard not to feel thwarted at every turn, but she tried to focus on the positive. At least they now knew what the Joining entailed. "Alright fine, you can teach the alchemy to me and the spells to Solona. We'll figure the rest out…eventually."

Avernus nodded. "Fair enough. Now, if you're done with your questions…?"

"Not quite. One more. The Archdemon." Repressing a shudder as half-remembered dreams came to mind, Elissa went on. "How do we kill it?"

It might have been just her imagination, but it seemed like Avernus went very still for an instant, before nonchalantly shrugging a shoulder. "The Archdemon is a Tainted Old God…but it will die like any other high dragon." His smile turned creepy. "You may wish to practice on a few before you confront it. That shouldn't be too hard…this is the Dragon Age, is it not?" He chuckled at his own joke, but when no one joined in he grew serious again. He seemed to deliberate something for a few seconds, before adding, "You should ensure, however, that it is a Grey Warden who lands the killing strike."

Elissa fancied she could feel Alistair and Solona's eyes upon her, but the answer was rather obvious, wasn't it? "Of course," she said with a sigh, before turning to face them. "That thing is the walking embodiment of the Taint…being anywhere near it when it was killed would pose a  _huge_  risk of contamination." She turned back to face Avernus, and found him studying her intently. She frowned. "Is that all?"

His eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, but then he shrugged. "I'm afraid I was never afforded the opportunity to fight an Archdemon. I don't really have any practical advice to give, but…I suppose  _grounding_  it would be a first step, hmm?"

"Right. Thanks."  _Useless._  Her questioning had led to another dead end. "I suppose the time for questions is over." She let the defeats of the day slide away from her, not wanting to get dragged down by her own disappointment. They still had a job to do. "Who is ready to kick some demon ass?"

* * *

Sealing the tear in the Veil was not accomplished without some casualties; the fight against the demons while Avernus performed the ritual had left none of them injury-free. Elissa sat on her bedroll in the main hall of the Keep with a sack of conjured ice on her knee. Solona sat beside her—a wicked gash across her forehead had been recently bandaged. The mage had healed the wound a little, but after a long day of fighting she had little mana left, and what magic she could cast had to be spent on healing Alistair.

They had set up their bedrolls in a semicircle around the stone hearth. They could have slept in the barracks, but the bunk-beds in there were so covered with dust (and Maker knew what else) that no one felt tempted. Instead, they decided to set up camp in the main hall. It felt somehow cozier.

Elissa and Solona sat on the two middle bedrolls. Elissa flipped through the pages of Sophia Dryden's journal while Solona sat scratching at Prince's ears.

Alistair lay in a bedroll beside hers. She kept looking up from her book to reassure herself that he was still sleeping comfortably beside her. He was naked from the waist up, save for a torso covered in bandages and a sling for one arm. The sight of his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm was deeply comforting.

She'd been overconfident.

_She saw an opening when Alistair turned, and the demon's back became briefly exposed to her. Diving in with her blades, she thought to make an end of it, but the creature shifted at the last second and her killing blow turned into a glancing one, throwing her off balance and sending her crashing to one knee._

_The jolt of impact took the breath from her lungs and made her drop her daggers, and so she wasted a precious second before she pushed off the floor with her hands to flip over. The demon rose up above her, one horrendously overlarge claw poised to strike and end her stupid and confusing life the very next second._

_But then Alistair materialized in front of her, and the blow that should have ended her struck him instead. He was off position, and didn't have his shield up all the way to completely block the blow, so when the demon struck, Alistair crumpled in a scream of scraping metal._

"He's going to be fine, you know."

She turned to see Solona watching her, a hint of smile on her lips. Elissa looked away, frowning into the book in her lap. "I know that."

Solona made a wordless hum, and Elissa went back to reading about Sophia Dryden. The words were making little sense to her at this point, but the act of trying to read kept her mind from focusing on more troubling thoughts. Whenever she stopped reading, twin images would flit to her mind's eye; she saw Alistair's arm hanging limply at his side, his torso ravaged by a demonic claw one moment, and then she saw him naked and gloriously whole the next, looming over her with an expression somewhere between hurt and confused.

"What's going on with you two, anyway?"

Her head snapped up at the question and then she glanced around. Alistair was snoring beside her and Levi was out cold in his bedroll on the other side of Solona. After performing the ritual to seal the Veil, Avernus had crept back into his Tower. So, save for Prince, the two of them had no audience.

She didn't meet Solona's eye. "I'm concerned about him. Is that so hard to understand?"

"No, I don't mean that. I mean…all day you two have been acting strange. Ever since we left Denerim you two can't keep your hands off each other, and then today hits and you're barely looking at each other. What gives?"

Elissa blinked in surprise—her first reaction was to feel insulted at such an invasive question. While overall she preferred the candid and frank way her companions addressed her, the familiarity she bore among them  _had_  taken some getting used to. She was never one for sharing her concerns and worries with others—especially not people she had known for so little time.

She had thought she had done an admirable job of keeping the awkwardness between her and Alistair at bay—just stepping foot into the old Keep had led to an entire day of exploration and combat, so it had been easy to focus on the task at hand rather than all the questions that had been raised by her realization in the tent that morning.

Of course, ignoring the issue was that much harder to do when she looked at him. For having seen the truth about Alistair's feelings for her, she could not meet his eye now without seeing it once again. So she had stopped meeting his eye, and apparently Solona had noticed.

She took a breath and glanced yet again at Alistair, finding the offer to talk strangely tempting. What would she say, however?  _Alistair's in love with me and it scares me to death._  She could imagine Solona's reaction to  _that_. Elissa knew what Solona's first question would be (after laughing and calling her an idiot, of course. Deservedly.), and it was  _that_ answer, not the one she'd found in Alistair's eyes that morning, that she was not yet ready to face.

"It's…complicated." That was true enough. "I'm…not really ready to talk about it."

Solona stifled a yawn. "Suit yourself," she said, stretching out on her bedroll. "But don't keep him in the doghouse too long. The poor sod is crazy about you, you know."

Elissa bit her lips to keep from responding, not wanting to get drawn into a discussion of her love life. "I won't," she said, rolling her eyes and folding her book closed _,_ before stretching out on her own bedroll.

They'd decided to forgo keeping a watch. The Veil had been sealed, and Elissa seriously doubted that any outside threat would appear in such a remote location. She'd set up a perimeter of traps, just in case, and no one had argued against it.

Elissa was beyond exhausted, but her mind would not let her rest. She kept turning to look at Alistair, fighting the urge to wake him up to talk. It was a bizarre impulse and she repressed it, not sure what was the more likely outcome of such a conversation. Either she would confess her heart wholly to him…admit her dawning consciousness of the true depth of feeling that he inspired in her—or she would tell him that it was over, that she wanted nothing more to do with this confusing, tangled mess of emotions she now felt.

As she lay there watching his chest rise and fall it occurred to her that the second option was rather substantially less likely. Smiling to herself, she whispered to his sleeping form. "I never wanted any of this, you know. This wasn't supposed to happen.  _You_ were never supposed to happen."

She heard Prince give a huff of breath, and looked over to see him by the hearth, looking at her with his head cocked to the side. She put a finger to her lips before quietly getting to her feet. As she tiptoed out of the room, she smiled to herself when she heard him get up to trod after her.

"Care to accompany me on some exploration?" she whispered once she'd led them safely through the traps. Prince wagged his tail in assent.

It was an age-old habit of hers. When she couldn't sleep, she got up to explore her surroundings in the quiet of the night. There was something alluring about the entire process. It was imperative that it be done at night, not just for keeping her activities clandestine, but also for the aura of mystery the darkness added to her mission. She had not indulged in this particular hobby in a long time—she had long ago plundered all the secrets that Castle Cousland had to offer, and she hadn't traveled much in the year prior to her joining the Wardens. Finding the opportunity in front of her tonight was both a relief and a thrill. From what she'd read of Brother Geniviti's book on the Keep, the old Commander, Gaspar Asturian, had set about constructing a near labyrinth of secret passages throughout the fortress.

She hadn't time to seek out such frivolities during the day, but now the prospect of going exploring sounded infinitely more preferable than lying awake, fretting over past and future conversations with Alistair. And so, rather than contemplate questions Elissa did not know the answer to, she made the not inconsequential decision to explore the old Warden Keep further, to see if there were any more secrets the old fortress had left to tell.


	42. Peak, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elissa has some surprising conversations during her exploration of the old keep.

_Nobody said it was easy_

_No one ever said it would be this hard_

_—The Scientist_ , Coldplay

Elissa stared at the vine growing in a meandering path up the stone wall. She knew the vine only grew upward as a means to reaching sunlight—but as she followed the green, sinewy stems over and around the square stones it used to climb its way toward the open sky, she imagined it escaping over the edge toward something more than just sunlight…the vine was seeking  _freedom_.

 _Look at me, envious of a vine,_  she thought, turning back to her tea with a sigh.  _It's only a half-hour more._

She knew she should be grateful—for the most part she was free to pursue her own avenues of interest and study, and she knew that not all noble children could count themselves so lucky. But, while most of her time was her own to fill, her mother still insisted that the three Cousland women spend a part of an afternoon every week in each other's company. They rotated activities among them and Oriana always chose tea in the open-air solar of the family wing of the castle.

And she always wanted to talk about the same thing.

Oriana sat next to her on the wooden bench, her back an elegant straight line. She lifted the delicate teacup to her lips and blinked over her cup at Elissa. "So tell me, Elissa, do you have your eye on anyone special lately?"

Elissa sat with her hands in her lap, holding her untouched tea. "There's an ancient Tevinter magister who came up with an intriguing mathematical concept I've been pondering—"

Oriana  _tsked_  and set her cup down on the saucer with a disappointed  _clink._ " That's not what I mean, and you know it. I want to know if you have your eye on anyone interesting…and alive." At Elissa's blank stare, she sighed. "Come, now, aren't you at all interested in romance? In finding love? Finding that one person in all the world who makes you feel complete?"

The noise Elissa made was decidedly unladylike. "First of all, if there were only one person in all the world for me, it's highly improbable that we would ever even meet."

Oriana's hair was positively luminous in the bright afternoon sun. "Nonsense." Oriana tossed her fiery hair. "Of course, you will find each other," she said with a knowing smile. "That is how it works."

"You can't be serious," Elissa said, ignoring the warning look her mother shot her. "Just think about it for one second. If in all the world there existed only one person for me, the likeliness of coming into contact with that person is practically nil. What if he's some poor elven slave toiling away in Tevinter? Or…or some rakish apostate, on the run from the Chantry?" Oriana sighed, but Elissa was having too much fun. She made a wide gesture with her hand, splashing drops of her tea on the white tablecloth. "Or…better yet, what if he's some dwarven prince in Orzammar? Or maybe…maybe a  _pirate—"_

"Elissa."

She recognized that tone in her mother's voice. It was the one that warned that Eleanor's patience was nearing its end. Elissa set her tea down on the small table with an apologetic smile and then straightened her spine and aimed for a more dignified tone. "All I am saying is that the idea is unrealistic."

Oriana's gaze flitted to Eleanor's, before she looked at Elissa again and pursed her lips. "Fergus tells me that Nathaniel Howe and you got on splendidly during your visit to Amaranthine. And now Mother tells me he's written you letters!" She leaned over and patted Elissa's arm. "Perhaps the right person is not so far away after all."

Elissa rolled her eyes. "Nathaniel Howe is not the right person."

"Why ever not?"

She scoffed. "He'll only ever be an arl. That's not really marrying well _,_ is it?" She looked up again at the vine crawling over the wall and then said with a sigh, "What is even the point in marrying if I'm not going to marry  _well_?"

It was Oriana's turn to give an unladylike snort. "For love _,_  of course!"

She rolled her eyes again. Talking to Oriana was making her eyeballs ache. "Pfft. Love is a foolish reason to get married."

"Oh." Oriana gave a little cough before lifting the teacup to her mouth again. "I see."

"Oriana." The Cousland matriarch was perched in a chair seated perpendicular to Elissa. The smile she gave was one that only someone who was intimately familiar with her moods would notice was at all strained. "I completely forgot the biscuits Nan made for us. Would you be a dear and run to the kitchen and ask for them?"

Oriana glanced from Eleanor to Elissa, then nodded and placed her teacup and saucer on the small table in front of her. "I'm sure they will be lovely. I'll just be a minute."

After her footsteps had faded away, Elissa slumped back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. "Is the reason we don't have ladies-in-waiting so you can send Oriana away on errands whenever you wish to scold me?"

Eleanor tapped her index finger on the side of her teacup a few times before before inclining her head in the direction Oriana had headed. "What do you think I should scold you for?"

"For mocking Oriana's illogical ideas about love and fate?" Elissa offered with a shrug. She regarded her mother with a flat expression. "You don't believe all that poppycock, do you? That there's one person in 'all the world' that's right for me?"

Eleanor sighed, and closed her eyes for a heartbeat. She opened them a moment later, and regarded her daughter with an even stare. "No, in fact I believe that there are many men with whom you could build a lovely future."

Elissa's impertinent response died in the back of her throat under her mother's piercing eyes. "Er…sure." She shrugged off the subject. "But, the point is I'm right—"

"The point is that when a person is in love, they very well may feel as though they've found the one right person in all the world for them." Her mother cocked her head to the side and narrowed her eyes. "I daresay that's how Oriana feels about your brother."

As if she needed reminding of that fact—she'd seen far more displays of affection between the two than she had ever wanted to. She shrugged. "I suppose—"

"And _,"_ Eleanor went on, leaning forward slightly in her chair, while Elissa fell silent, "I would also venture to guess that Oriana is well aware that Fergus did not in fact marry  _well_  when he chose her for his bride."

She felt a crawling sensation up the back of her spine as she replayed the scene with Oriana over again in her head. "Well, I wasn't talking about  _her._  I thought that was obvious." She looked off in the direction Oriana had headed, hating the sinking guilty feeling in her chest. Oriana always took her side when her brother teased her, she couldn't help recollecting. "I truly did not mean to offend," she said, wincing as she stared down the stone hall that sloped toward the rest of the castle. "But…I can see how it could be construed as insulting." She turned back to her mother with a contrite expression. "I'll make it up to her."

"Thank you." Eleanor tilted her head to the side and peered at Elissa through narrowed eyes. "Fergus tells me you acted strangely in Amaranthine. You weren't yourself."

"Fergus." She wrinkled her nose. "He's supposed to be a grown man. Doesn't he have anything better to do than tattle on me?" Her childish outburst elicited no response from her mother, save for a slight rise of eyebrows. "I was myself. Who else would I be?" At her mother's continued silence she let out a sigh. "I was a quieter, more demure version of myself. I would think you'd be proud of me for behaving. I didn't voice any number of deductions that I made while I was there. I was the picture of self-restraint." She gave her mother small, proud smile.

"Hmm," her mother said, over her cup of tea. After a beat, she nodded to herself. "And it was this demure, quiet version of yourself that Nathaniel was so taken with?"

Elissa hesitated a moment before finally giving in to a frustrated sigh. "As a matter of fact, yes." Apparently batting one's eyelashes and answering in one word replies was all it took to enrapture the eldest Howe son. She'd been a little disgusted, actually, at how easy it had turned out to be. "He saw what he wanted to see. In his mind, I became some mysterious object for him to desire." She frowned down at her hands, uncomfortable at the memories that sprung to the surface as she talked. "I'm sure the moment I opened my mouth and offered up my  _true_  thoughts, he would have turned quite uninterested."

Her mother went still beside her, and Elissa fancied she could feel her eyes burning into her. "Why didn't you, then? That seems like it would have been an easy solution for getting rid of his unwanted affections. If you didn't like him, why did you put up with it?"

"I didn't say I didn't like him," Elissa muttered, picking at an invisible piece of dust on her skirt. Her cheeks burned at the confession, but somehow, it always felt a little better when her mother wrestled the truth out of her. "I suppose…I suppose I did like him, after a fashion. He was certainly polite enough. And… he was handsome."  _And a good kisser,_ she thought, but didn't add. Thinking about the whole thing now filled her with an angry heat. "But he was smitten with a fallacy. With some bubble-headed mystery woman of his own invention," she spat out, a little surprised at the venom in her voice.

Her mother set her cup and saucer down on the small table. "So, if I understand correctly…you are upset with Nathaniel for liking you for the person you presented yourself as, and not who you really are?"

When her mother put it like that it sounded absurd. "I never said I was upset. This whole thing has utterly convinced me that being in love is an altogether undesirable state, one that makes you prone to lose all sense of propriety or logic." At that, her mother snorted a laugh. Elissa looked at her with eyes as wide as saucers. "You're laughing at me, Mother?"

Eleanor brought her hand to her mouth to stifle her chuckling. "Oh, I'm so sorry. But, you're just…" She tilted her head to the side and smiled, her expression both amused and loving. "My darling girl, you remind me of myself a bit, at your age. Of course, I used different words, but I shared your sentiments and…well, look what happened to me."

What  _happened_  to her mother was only the epic love story of how her mother and father had met and fell in love while fighting for their country's freedom. It was the kind of story Oriana adored, but Elissa always assumed it had been exaggerated over the years.

She shook her head, but had to repress a smile at her mother's affectionate amusement. "Laugh all you want, but I've a feeling I'm immune to that particular disorder." That only made Eleanor chuckle more. It was verging on excessive. " _Mother._ "

"I'm sorry, darling. I just can't help imaging what an absolute wreck you'll be when it happens to you." She reached out and patted her daughter's hand. "And it will." Her smile faded, but didn't entirely disappear as she gave Elissa a serious look. "You will find someone with whom you do not have to pretend, Elissa." She reached out and cupped her daughter's chin. "You'll just have to decide if you're open to it."

Elissa's eyes went wide at her mother's sudden candor. It was embarrassing, all of a sudden. "Certainly, Mother." Her face folded into a thoughtful expression. "But seriously…he'd better at least be a prince."

That elicited an eye-roll from her oh-so-dignified mother, and made the whole exchange worthwhile. "Elissa. You'll be the death of me."

* * *

Elissa stood in front of a portrait of Warden-Commander Asturian, hanging above a fireplace. She and Prince were on the second floor, in the room where Avernus had performed the ritual to close the Veil. She held  _The History of Grey Wardens in Ferelden_ , by Brother Genitivi, open in front of her. "Listen to this, Prince, and tell me what you think."

She read aloud:

" _There was one mystery, however, that persisted, and this mystery perplexed even Commander Halwic herself. When Commander Asturian went to his Calling in the Deep Roads, he did not have in his hand his sword, Asturian's Might, forged for him by dwarven smiths and presented to him upon the completion of Soldier's Peak. Nor did he pass the sword on to his successor, or to any other Grey Warden._

_While some maintained that Asturian had simply destroyed the sword in his dotage, others believed he had stashed it away somewhere in Soldier's Peak. One young Warden claimed that Asturian had once grabbed him by the shoulders, fixed him with an unwavering gaze and said, 'The sword will remind you what it is to be a Warden. Speak your oath to me, when the shadows come. You must speak the words.'_

_What this was supposed to mean was never made clear."_

Elissa closed the book, shooting a grin at Prince. "Here goes nothing, eh?" She turned toward the painting and said in a loud, clear voice, "In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death, sacrifice."

Nothing happened for the span of a few heartbeats, and Elissa feared it had all been for naught, but then she heard a scraping noise and the wall to the right of the fireplace lifted. In a shady, hidden alcove sat an ornate chest.

Elissa clapped with delight before falling to her knees to open the chest. The inside held a few sacks of coin, but her eyes were immediately drawn to a cobalt blue hilt with gold trim. Holding her breath, she pulled the sword from the chest, gasping as she felt a vibration go up her arm. "It must be enchanted," she whispered to Prince, who was tentatively sniffing around the chest. "This is it.  _Asturian's Might_." She marveled at how the blade felt in her hand and then found herself picturing Alistair's face when she presented it to him. "He'll love it," she said softly.

She smiled to herself as she imagined his surprised gratitude. He always seemed so shocked to receive any of the gifts she'd given him—as if he weren't at all used to the custom.  _Which he probably isn't, of course,_  she realized with a frown. Staring down at the blade, she thought about the first time she'd given him a gift.

" _Here," she said, pressing the smooth stone into Alistair's hand and then snatching hers away._

_He stared at his outstretched palm, blinking down at the white stone. After he ran his thumb over the surface, he looked up at her with a frown. "This is a runestone."_

_The irritation that always swelled up in her when people gave voice to statements of such obvious fact cropped up, but for once she tried not to let it show. "Yes." At his blank expression she went on, her cheeks starting to burn. "You like that sort of thing," she said, feeling foolish for stating the obvious, herself._

_That thoughtful frown was now focused on her. "I…do?"_

_She swatted at a bug that flew between them, feeling self-conscious under his scrutiny. "Do you deny it? I saw the way you looked at Sandal's enchanting supplies, earlier. This kind of magic fascinates you, doesn't it?"_

_His eyes narrowed, but the lines of his mouth softened, and then twitched. "So…you're_ giving _this to me?"_

_She felt her face grow even warmer. Why was this so difficult a concept? Why did he make such a fuss over it? Why had she given into this stupid impulse in the first place? "Yes, of course," she finally replied through clenched teeth._

" _Wow! For me?" The Templar's delighted face looked half a decade younger, all of a sudden. "I…wow…_ wow… _thank you!"_

_He smiled down at her, and all the irritation she'd been feeling evaporated under his grateful expression. A moment before she had thought the gesture a terrible mistake, but now she felt like a genius. "Don't mention it," she said, shyly grinning up at him._

The encounter was rewarding enough to attempt repeating as often as she could get away with. Finding out what Alistair liked was never a problem—that was only a simple matter of observation and deduction. But she had tried not to overwhelm him with gifts, either, not wanting to appear fawning or manipulative. She really had no frame of reference for the gift giving habits of commoners, she reasoned. Too much generosity might appear arrogant, for all she knew.

A surge of guilt flowed through her and she scowled at the blade in her hands, before setting it down on the floor with a sigh, and reaching in her pack. She pulled out something hard, round, and wrapped in cloth.

"And then, of course, there's this," she said quietly, unwrapping the bundle. It was a symbol of Andraste, made out of clay, painted silver, and hung on a thin chain. The symbol had shattered—she could see the cracks webbing through the surface—but someone had meticulously glued it back together. "I should have given this to him weeks ago."

Prince stepped forward and sniffed at the necklace, and then looked up at her with eyebrows pulled together.

It always made her smile when Prince displayed his species' significant intelligence. "It's Alistair's mother's amulet," she said quietly. "I found it in the arl's study back when we were in Redcliffe." She ran a finger over the surface, and then gave her head a soft shake. "I am a terrible person."

The mabari huffed, and then he was in her lap, licking at her face to prove his disagreement. She gave a small laugh and gently pushed him back. "It's true, Prince. I have no excuse." The dog sat back and seemed to listen patiently. She took a deep breath. "It's completely and utterly irrational. There's no sense or reason in it at all. I mean, this cheap trinket is nothing at all like anything Mother ever owned or even looked twice at." She held the amulet up by the chain, letting the stone whirl back and forth. "And yet…sometimes when I'm holding it—"

" _You can hear my voice."_

Elissa sighed. "The truth is, I'm forgetting what she sounds like." The silver symbol blurred, and she blinked hard and cleared her throat. "I know it isn't really her. I know it's just the echo of her voice in my own mind. I know it isn't real."

Prince's head cocked to the side, and he put a paw on the top of her leg. She gave him a small smile before turning back to the amulet in her hand. Taking a deep breath, she looked around the room. In her mind's eye, it was suddenly easy to pretend Eleanor was there with them, sitting down on the tattered remains of a high-backed chair and looking at Elissa with both affection and…disappointment. " _This isn't healthy. You cannot keep your only confidence in a dead woman and a dog."_

Her mother would say something like that, wouldn't she? "It's easier this way."

Prince's head tilted in the other direction at her quiet muttering, and she reached out and patted his head reassuringly.  _Even my dog thinks I'm mad_ …but speaking the words aloud helped, though Elissa didn't understand why.

She took her hand away from Prince's head and joined it with the other one in her lap, still holding the amulet. With a sigh, she closed her eyes and gave herself over to the soothing fantasy of her mother's presence.

The Eleanor of her imagination shook her head, chuckling softly. " _Easier? Of course, it's easier to hide yourself away, never revealing your true thoughts or letting anyone get too close. Only now you're in love, with a man who knows you for who you are. Who has seen you at your absolute worst…and still wishes to keep your company. And it frightens you half to death."_

Elissa scowled, but kept her eyes closed. "That is a summation of the problem, yes."

_Her mother tilted her head to the side and raised her eyebrows. "So…what is it you are so afraid of?"_

A few long, quiet moments passed while Elissa sat there with her eyes closed, feeling Prince curled up next to her, waiting patiently. "Before, I tried not to think about it all. It was so much easier to just…do what we were doing, without labeling it or quantifying it." She inclined her head, brows furrowing together. "I thought if I gave it any real thought at all, I'd have to conclude that the whole idea was simply foolish, and bound to end badly."

" _And now?"_

Elissa hesitated, feeling hot tears prickling at her eyes, even as she kept them closed tight. "There are so many good reasons to just…to just say forget it to this whole thing. We're Wardens…we shouldn't be so distracted. And he's going to be king! He'll need someone that can bring him more power and influence…not some orphaned nobody in the Grey Wardens like me."

She felt Prince give her hand a lick in sympathy. It wrenched a choking half-laugh from her. Still, she didn't open her eyes.

_Eleanor leaned forward, catching Elissa's gaze and holding it. "And yet?"_

"I'm not so sure…even given all those compelling reasons…I am not sure I would be capable of ending it, even if I did conclude it was for the best." Her shoulders slumped, and she brought her hands to her face. "I'm out of control!"

_Eleanor gave a gentle laugh. "No, you're just in love, Elissa."_

"Same thing," she mumbled into her hands.

_Her mother laughed again, louder this time, and then stood and placed a hand on her daughter's head. "You already know what I would tell you, my dear. You need to speak with Alistair about this, not this figment of me in your mind."_

Elissa brought her hands away from her face. "What would I even tell him?"

" _Everything, of course. Tell him everything." Her mother looked off to the side, frowning thoughtfully. "I'm sure he has his own reservations. Perhaps together you can assuage each other's fears…or determine once and for all if the two of you are worth continuing."_

Her mother's words sunk into her with a leaden sort of certainty and she could do nothing but sit there for a few long moments, more comforted than she could explain by the imagined presence of her mother. "I miss you so much," she whispered, squeezing her eyes tight against the fresh tears that threatened to fall. She felt Prince then, laying his head on the top of her leg. Taking a deep breath, she opened her eyes.

Prince gazed up at her with what she would swear was a concerned expression.

"So I need to talk to him," she said, letting a defensive air creep into her tone as she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "No matter. I can do that. I'll just…give him this at the same time." She gestured with the amulet. "Perfect."

If her voice sounded shaky to him, Prince made no sign, thankfully. He stood and wagged his tail, suddenly excited at his mistress' change in mood.

She wrapped up the amulet and put it back in her pack before picking up the sword and threading it through her belt. Adding the bags of gold to her pack made it three times as heavy, she realized as she got to her feet with a sigh. In spite of how much heavier her pack felt, Elissa felt lighter, somehow, overall. It was the peaceful calm that came with making a decision, however dire.

She hated not knowing what to do. It was the worst feeling in the world.

"Well," she said, cocking her head to the side and looking at Prince. "I suppose that's about it. We've done a pretty thorough examination of all three floors. I doubt there's anything we've missed." She'd discovered a network of secret passages linking rooms on separate floors and leading outside. Sophia Dryden's office even housed a secret room. It'd been wonderfully distracting fun, but she was fairly sure she'd plumbed all of the keep's secrets at this point. There was nothing left to do but go back to the main hall and sleep.

Except, in spite of the lateness of the hour, she felt energized by having come to a decision. If she were to return to her bedroll now, she would surely spend the next hour or two tossing and turning, her head full of possibilities and fears.

She bit her lip, glancing up the stairs that led to the third floor, and after that, the bridge that connected this part of the keep to Avernus' tower. "Although…we still haven't searched that tower."

Prince gave a low whine and rubbed his head against her hand. She patted his head absentmindedly, still gazing up the stairs. Avernus' laboratory had been rather large, and she hadn't really gotten a good look the first time she'd visited.  _There has to be some other entrance to it, since he never came down here and he had to eat._ She frowned as she tried to picture where a hidden staircase might have been accessed. There were a few possibilities, she could see from the picture of the grounds she had in her head. But knowing which one was real would require searching the laboratory itself.

Her feet were already headed toward the stairs before her plan really crystallized in her mind. "He has to sleep sometime, doesn't he?" she reasoned to Prince. "Let's go see what we can find out."

* * *

Elissa's skin prickled at the frigid air that blew over the bridge and she shivered as she drew up to the heavy wooden door that led into the tower. She put her ear to it and tried to hear if anyone was moving around on the other side, but between the thickness of the door and the howling of the wind, she couldn't hear anything. Finally, realizing she would either have to satisfy her curiosity or risk freezing to death, she pulled open the door and slipped inside Avernus' tower, with Prince right on her heels.

Her eyes watered at the torchlight, and after blinking a few times she realized Avernus was not, in fact, asleep. The ancient mage had no doubt heard her, but he stood on the raised platform at the end of the room with his back to her, fiddling with some vials at his desk.

She took a few steps inside, the explanation for her presence on the tip of her tongue when Avernus spoke. "Ah, so you have finally arrived. I was beginning to wonder if you ever would."

His words brought her up short and she froze mid-step.  _What is he on about?_  She frowned, not at all comfortable with feeling as if she were playing catch-up on the conversation. With a pang she wondered how often she'd elicited this feeling in Alistair. Brushing aside thoughts of him, she took a few more steps forward. "Of course, I had to come," she said evenly, sparing a look around the laboratory.

It was no more comforting on further examination than it had been the first time she set foot in it. The laboratory truly looked like a hall of horrors. A desiccated corpse was pinned to one wall on giant spikes, and the floor was littered with pits Elissa was too afraid to approach. The whole room reeked of decay and death under the cloying herbal mixture that hung in the air, and Elissa unconsciously brought a hand to her nose as she picked her way toward the raised platform where Avernus still stood.

Finally, when she had almost reached the platform, he turned away from his work. "Well," he said as he made his way to the railing. "You are here now, alone, without an audience." He looked down at her with a hint of a knowing smile. "Go on. Ask me your question again."

Elissa's heart started to race as she looked up at him. Her mind was churning, trying to think of what he could be referring to. What could he possibly think she needed to ask  _again_? She replayed the conversation from earlier that day in her mind as quickly as she could. She'd  _missed_  something, she realized, with a sinking sensation in her gut. And Avernus had thought she was merely being coy. What was it?

Had she made a leap in logic that wasn't warranted at some point?

She sucked in a breath when it came to her.

" _You should ensure, however, that it is a Grey Warden who lands the killing strike."_

She had not waited for the explanation, drawing her own conclusion instead. "Sometimes a duck isn't a duck," she said softly to herself.

"I beg your pardon?" Avernus' brow furrowed in confusion.

Confident now that she knew her mistake and determined to rectify it, Elissa spoke in a steady a voice. "Why does it  _really_  take a Grey Warden to kill the archdemon?"

Avernus' thin lips spread into a facsimile of a smile. "I knew that you were clever," he said, sounding pleased with himself. He cocked his head to the side and regarded her thoughtfully. "Access to this information is limited. It isn't widely known among Grey Warden novices." His eyes narrowed. "But, you figured that out, of course."

"Of course," Elissa said, shrugging a shoulder and willing her heart to stop thundering quite so painfully in her chest. The heady mixture of fear and guilt was making her palms sweat, but she tried to appear cool and collected. The time for kicking herself for her mistake could come later. She had a miraculous second chance, it appeared. "So, what is it? What's the reason?"

Avernus threaded his fingers together and stared down at her. "I will tell you—though you may wish that you hadn't asked, in truth. But, I'm afraid, I'm going to have to ask for a favor in return. A small one, I assure you. And one that you might not find such a burden." His smile widened. "I'll need the favor in advance, of course."

Her fingers brushed against Prince's head. His steady presence helped keep her calm as she tried to hide her shallowed breathing, staring up at Avernus with a worried frown _. What can he possibly want? Something with his research, surely. A donation of blood?_

It likely didn't matter, for she'd be hard-pressed to decline him.  _This is why I'm here_ , she realized with a sinking feeling in her gut. This was exactly the kind of secret she had come to the keep to discover.

She took a deep breath and jutted out her chin. "What kind of favor?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Riptide Monzarc for offering comments and suggestions to make my writing better.


	43. Liars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The Fereldan nobility seem to have awoken to the rules of the Great Game at last."
> 
> Or have they?

_I'm not calling you a liar,  
_ _Just don't lie to me  
_ _—I'm Not Calling You a Liar,_  Florence + the Machine

The Antivan merchant's wares glittered in the noonday sun. From his position in the shadows, Zevran could see that the trinkets and baubles Cesar sold looked far more valuable than they really were. His gaze lingered over the spout of a brass teapot—he could see from this angle that the coating was chipped in several places.

Cesar's stall was one of the few with a roof—a canvas tarp of a roof, but a roof nonetheless. The back of the stall was covered in shadow, so he had slipped into it unannounced. Cesar hadn't so much as twitched in response, but Zevran knew the merchant with Crow ties was already aware of his presence, even before he spoke.

"Zevran." The merchant did not look up from the ledger he was writing in. He stood at a counter that was made out of wooden crates. "It is, as always, a pleasure to not see you."

Zevran smiled at the back of Cesar's head, but didn't move from his position. "The pleasure is all mine, I assure you." He cast his gaze around the stall. "I cannot tell you how much I enjoy not speaking with you, Cesar."

At first, he had been a little worried when he discovered Ignacio and Cesar in Denerim's marketplace, but the brothers seemed content to let other Crows deal with his 'truancy'. That probably had a lot to do with the tidy profits brought in by selling off the loot Zevran had acquired from his murderous purge of Denerim's gangs. Coin spoke louder than principles this far from the watchful eyes of Antivan guildmasters, apparently.

Cesar gave a dry chuckle. "You'll like what I do not have to say today, I think." For the first time, Cesar glanced back to where Zevran was standing, before scanning the immediate area. After a second, he turned back to his books. "It seems the Fereldan appetite has turned downright Orlesian these days."

"Oh? Have the dog lords developed a taste for large, ridiculous hats? Or perhaps they've become obsessed with cheese that tastes of  _ennui_?"

That elicited another chuckle, and then Cesar shook his head. "Nothing quite so outlandish, no. I meant the Fereldan nobility seem to have awoken to the rules of the great Game at last." Zevran's eyebrows rose a fraction of an inch as Cesar inclined his head toward an elaborately carved wooden desk that stood to Zevran's left. "In Antiva or Orlais the guest list to the Arl of Denerim's intimate affair might fetch a few sovereigns. In Ferelden?" He shook his head before turning back to his ledger. "The nobles of this country are far too direct, usually, for those kinds of wares to develop such value."

Zevran's eyes narrowed as he stared at the desk Cesar had gestured to.  _The Arl of Denerim's intimate affair?_  That could prove promising.

Without a word he glided to the desk. His hands skimmed over the polished wood as he tried to discover the hidden mechanism that would open a secret compartment. It took only a few seconds and the lightest application of pressure to reveal a small chamber hidden behind a drawer that sat atop the ornate desk. He reached into the compartment, trying to see with his fingers what treasure it contained, and discovered a folded up piece of parchment. After pulling it out by the tips of his fingers, he slunk back into the shadows and unfolded it.

It was a list of names. A date was scrawled across the top, almost two weeks away. When he saw the name that was second from the bottom, he let out a soft whistle. "Sabine Beaumarchais…I had no idea she was in Ferelden."

A soft snort escaped from Cesar. "That is highly unlikely." He made a few more marks into the ledger before closing it. "Beaumarchais always sends a proxy to do her business for her—they'll swear their name is Beaumarchais, but it's never really her. No one even knows what she really looks like. I'll bet even her proxies deal with proxies."

Zevran let out the breath he'd been holding. He should have known that a black market dealer as infamous and clever as Beaumarchais wouldn't be so easy to locate.

The Arl must have been planning to sell the antidote that night. His first plan would have been to find the woman after the party and take matters from there…but without a description he would have no way of knowing who was even serving as her proxy now. Still, this was a promising lead. He let out a low hum. "Thank you, Cesar. This is just the kind of person I've been looking for."

"Yes," Cesar said. He drummed his fingers on the cover of his book as he turned his head to the side. "It is."

The merchant's tone brought a thoughtful frown to Zevran's face. He peered down at the parchment. "How was this acquired, I wonder?"

He could see by the way Cesar's shoulders relaxed that he had asked the right question. "Funny you should ask. A girl—I would peg her as a servant to one of the minor noble houses, if I had to guess—she was convinced of the document's value, in spite of the fact that she couldn't read a single word upon it."

"Hmm." That could be suspicious…or it might not. Perhaps someone put her up to stealing it, and then refused to pay? "This girl…does she have a name?"

Cesar cocked his head to the side. "Mary? No…Molly…Beauford…or…Beaumont….something with a B." He shrugged, apologetically. "I did not realize the value of the purchase until long after she had left."

"Hmmm," Zevran said again. He had to be wary of any lead that seemed too good to be true…given the timing. He had enough to do a little digging to confirm the story, in any case.

"We live in interesting times, my friend. We have Fereldans bartering over information like Orlesians…and we apparently have Grey Warden outlaws operating in the city." Cesar turned his head and met Zevran's gaze. "An interesting development, is it not?"

He had not brought Elissa to meet Cesar or his brother yet, but Zevran was not surprised to see that their partnership had been deduced. Cesar may have been aware of Zevran's last mission—his bid for the job was widely talked about among the Crows, after all. He refolded the parchment and slipped it into a pocket, before producing a few sovereigns and placing them on the nearest counter with a quiet clink. "Perhaps," he said with a little shrug. "In any case, I would thank you…if you were able to help me, of course."

"If only I could," Cesar said, and Zevran could hear the smile in his voice. "But alas, you are not even here."

Zevran slipped out of the stall without a response, his thoughts troubled. The lead was the first solid clue they'd had since coming into the city, but Zevran felt he would be remiss if he passed on the information without first doing some due diligence. The girl… a servant… he could at least ask around. It might lead somewhere.

He turned and headed toward an alley, a few dockside taverns drawing him in. He had to start somewhere.

* * *

The heavy blanket that Darrian had nailed to the ceiling to serve as a curtain parted and Nesiara walked out into the living room, her mouth set into a grim line. She was carrying a tray with a stone bowl on it. "I think I got a little broth into him."

Darrian took the tray from her hands, frowning at the dark circles under his wife's eyes. "Nes, you've been cooped up in here way too long. Why don't you … go see your parents? Or…take a walk and get some fresh air?" He felt a little guilty, trying to get rid of her like this, but she did seem like she could use a break.

She ran a hand over her brow and offered him a weak smile. "I…I think you're right. I'll go see if Mother needs me." She tilted her face upward and looked at him expectantly.

Trying to ignore the feeling of his cousins' eyes on the back of his head, he leaned forward and gave his wife a chaste kiss on the cheek. With a nod toward the others she left without a word.

At the sound of the door closing, Darrian's shoulder slumped and he shuffled over to where Shianni stood in front of a large basin filled with soapy water. He set the tray down on the counter with a sigh. Keeping the truth about his father's condition from his wife was wearing on him, but he didn't want her to worry. "I dunno if I can keep this up."

Shianni shot him a look as she grabbed the bowl and emptied the contents into a wooden bucket before dropping it in the soapy water with a splash. She fetched a wet rag from the depths and wrung it out with a sharp twist of her wrists. "You won't have to for much longer. The arl's party will be here before you know it."

Darrian had started taking a few steps to join his cousin where Soris was sitting at the table, but at Shianni's words he halted and spun around to face her. "Yeah, that's just great…considering I have absolutely no idea if the Wardens even know about it, or if they have any intention of going…because you won't tell me anything!"

Shianni rolled her eyes and turned her back to him. "I told you—the less you know, the less you'll be able to fuck it all up."

Darrian shot a pleading look to Soris, but his other cousin kept his eyes trained his work—snapping the ends off a pile of skinny and pasty-looking green beans. With a sigh, he sat down next to him and started helping.

He was trying his hardest not to push, but not knowing what was going to happen was driving him crazy. Fortunately his cousins and his wife had all stepped up to help him care for his father—they'd pretty much been with him round the clock since he returned from the arl's estate three nights ago. While he was grateful for all the help, it was hard not to feel frustrated at Shianni's continued refusal to tell him just what the hell her plan was. So far he hadn't been able to come up with a good enough rationale to get her to tell him anything.

Of course, a part of him agreed with her. He was a terrible liar, so keeping this information away from him made a good amount of sense. Still, it wasn't helping him sleep at night, not having any idea where the precious paper from the arl had wound up. Snapping a bean and angrily throwing the end into a wooden bowl, he wondered just what the hell he would tell the arl should any of his men come by.  _Hey, that might work._  "So what exactly do I say to Howe's men when he drags me to his estate for an update?"

He knew he'd scored a point with that when Soris' head snapped up. Shianni froze. "I hadn't thought about that."

Darrian's eye caught Soris' before he went on with more enthusiasm. "It's bound to happen, Shianni. They're gonna want to know the trap's working." His excitement at having finally hit upon a successful strategy was dampened somewhat with the realization that what he was saying was likely true, and he didn't exactly relish the idea of a return trip to the arl's estate. Especially without an answer. " _Please_ , Shianni," he pleaded, shooting his cousin his most pitiable expression.

With a sigh, Shianni threw the wet rag into the water, where it landed with a sharp slap. "Fine!" She turned around and faced them. "But for the Maker's sake, please try and not fuck all this up on me, alright?"

Darrian's eyes went wide. She was going to tell him, finally. "Of course!"

Shianni took a deep breath and then rested her hands on the back of the chair at the end of the kitchen table. "So, you know Molly Belmont right?"

He shared another look with Soris—they were both frowning. "Er…who?"

Shianni gave a big sigh. "You know…that ginger shem with the—" She made a gesture in front of her chest.

Soris let out an audible sigh. "Shianni—"

"Oh, yeah, I remember now." Soris and Shianni shot him disgusted looks at that, but he rolled his eyes. "What does she have to do with anything?"

"Well, the thing about Molly is…she's got her finger in a lot of pies. And that girl cannot turn down making an extra penny, not if she can help it."

Darrian's frown only deepened. "If you say so."

"I do, trust me. Remember when I had that job helping out the baker's stall in the marketplace?"

"Was that before or after your stint with the laundry woman?" Soris' expression was innocent, but Darrian knew he was poking a sore spot. Shianni had trouble keeping jobs. It wasn't that she was lazy or incompetent—she was as hard a worker as Darrian had ever seen, and she was the most clever person in his family by far. But…she had a temper, and she had trouble keeping her mouth closed when the shems she inevitably came into contact with ignited it.

Darrian had always looked up to Shianni for her ability to speak her mind, no matter how powerful the target, but Soris was of the opinion that it was far easier on everyone if they all tried to keep quiet and stay out of trouble.

 _But, he still went with me to the arl's._  A feeling of warmth spread through Darrian's chest as he looked at his cousin. In spite of all his reservations, Soris had been there for both of them when they needed him. And he was here now, trying to figure out this mess…

"I told you not bring that stupid bint up again," Shianni snapped, yanking Darrian out of his thoughts, before she pulled out the chair and flopped into it. She waved a hand dismissively. "This was in between the docks tavern and the grocery cart, if you must know."

"Ahh, the grocer," Darrian said with a smile, happier memories rising to the surface and cutting through his current black mood. Shianni had taken over for him as a delivery person when he'd gotten into his bit of trouble. "Those were some good times."

He used to meet a lot of lonely, pretty maids and mistresses on his food deliveries. It had been an exciting six months—

He looked up to see both Shianni and Soris glaring at him. He gave out an embarrassed cough. "Right. Anyway, Molly Belmont."

Shianni rolled her eyes and went on. "Yeah, we met when I was a maid at the Foster's…you remember when I worked there?" It hadn't lasted longer than a week. She'd been hired as a "between maid," which meant she waited on the head servants, rather than the nobility themselves. From what Shianni had told him, those servants—elves, for the most part—were even tougher to please than the nobles.

Darrian shrugged his shoulders. "Sure."

"Right, well, good ol' Molly was an upstairs maid back then—a real fine job it was too, and she was a fool to jeopardize it. But, she couldn't keep her sticky fingers to herself and it wasn't long before she'd found herself accused of stealing."

A frustrated sigh escaped him. "Alright? So what does this have to do with anything?"

Shianni held up a hand, palm facing him. "I'm getting to it…anyway, the point is, Molly has an insatiable greed and it overrides her common sense, alright?" When Darrian just kept looking at her expectantly, Shianni's face broke into a smile. She leaned forward and spoke in a hushed whisper. "So, what do I do? I go to Molly…I still see her now and then, you know. She's got a new job at one of those pie shops by the docks."

"Oh, good for her," Soris said, a genuine smile on his face.

"Yeah, it's a job, right?" Shianni shot a grin at her cousin.

"Who cares where Molly's working now…will you just get on with it already?"

"Alright, alright. Sorry. Sheesh." Shianni rested her hands on the table and shot Darrian a sideways look. "So, you know what I did? I went to Molly, and I told her that I'd done something awful, and I needed her help." She had both of their attention now, so neither he nor Soris interrupted. "I told her that someone—I couldn't tell her who—but someone had entrusted me with a valuable item, but I was sore afraid that I was going to get in big trouble if I got caught."

Soris leaned back and rubbed his chin. "I like it…you keep it vague, but definitely suggest the item's value."

"Exactly." Shianni beamed with pride at her brother. "And I kept Darrian's name out of it, completely."

He felt a stabbing pain develop in his forehead. "Wait, kept my name out of what, exactly?"

Shianni rolled her eyes. "I told Molly that I was holding on to that guest list of yours for someone, but I was too scared and wished I never got involved." She shot a knowing glance at Soris. "So, when I'm babbling and out of my mind with fear, and wishing I could just get rid of the whole thing, Molly of course generously offers to take the dreaded thing off my hands.  _I'll keep it safe for you. You can count on ol' Molly._ " Shianni's voice had turned rough with the Molly impersonation. She gave a snort. "So I let her 'hold on to it' for me." She sat back with a triumphant grin on her face, crossing her arms across her chest.

Darrian's throat had gone dry. "You gave it to her? Are you joking? Why…she's just going to turn around and sell it to someone!"

Shianni and Soris shared a look—one Darrian recognized meant he was being thickheaded—before Soris turned to Darrian and said in a patient tone, "That's exactly what we want to happen."

He was blinking in confusion, willing his heartbeat to slow down and for his brain to catch up with his ears. The fact that Soris wasn't also freaking out helped—he was definitely the most levelheaded of the three of them. If he gave Shianni's plan his stamp of approval, Darrian could relax…

"Ok. Explain."

Shianni took a deep breath, but Soris gave her arm a brief touch and she snapped her mouth closed. "Think of it like this—Shianni just invented a hot commodity with this guest list. People will pass this around, not really knowing why, simply because they think its valuable to someone."

"But…we don't even know why it is valuable," Darrian said slowly. "None of those names meant anything to me."

Shianni shared another look with Soris, and they were both smiling now. "That's the beauty of it," she explained. "We don't need to know why. We just need to know who would find it valuable."

Darrian cocked his head to the side. "So wait, you think…you think someone will eventually sell it to Zevran?

"Exactly!" Shianni could contain herself no longer. "And this way, there's absolutely no way of linking it back to you. Because…no one knows anything!"

Darrian's head was starting to throb. "Yeah, including us," he snapped, regretting the way his tone made the smiles slide off of his cousins' faces. But this was too important for him not to at least try and figure out for himself. He wouldn't just let his fate rest in blind faith. Not this time. He spared a glance toward the back of the house, where his father lie behind a heavy curtain, still in a deep sleep. "It's a great plan and all but how in the Void are we supposed to know if it's even working?"

Shianni's face folded into a scowl. "Well…I…I hadn't exactly thought about that part of it…"

Sinking his face into his hands, Darrian let out a ragged breath, alarmed at just how keenly he felt the disappointment running through him.  _You can let others think for you but you'll be the one to pay the consequences_. That was what his mother had always tried to teach him. Too late, he realized how true that all was. "I should just go to Zevran and tell him everything," he mumbled into his hands.

"What?!" Shianni's shriek made him jerk his hands away and glare at her with alarm. She was unrepentant—glaring back at him, utterly appalled. "You cannot go to Zevran. You just can't. Don't forget who he is really working for."

"The Wardens?" He raised an incredulous eyebrow. "The folks who helped kick out those Tevinter slavers? You mean those two?"

His cousin's eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. "Yes, as a matter of fact. I do mean those two. She may be a Warden now but that woman is a noble from Highever—if you ever talked to your wife you might know that they treat the elves even worse in Highever than they do here."

"Oh, I…really?" He felt his stomach flip at the idea of any place actually being worse than Denerim's alienage. Of course, he knew that Elissa had never stepped foot into the alienage at Highever, but that wasn't exactly a redeeming revelation. "I…didn't know that."

Encouraged by his change of tone, Shianni nodded sharply. "And that other one? I…I don't know where I know him from, but there is something familiar about him." She kept her gaze trained on the table as she spoke in a voice thick with suspicion and…something else.

Soris and Darrian exchanged worried glances. No matter how many times they'd assured her that they'd killed them all ( _"Like dogs, Shianni"_ ) she still worried over faces half-remembered.

Before they could do anything else to assure her, a knock sounded on the front door. The three elves looked at each other with wide eyes. None of them had heard any footsteps. "Not really expecting anyone," Darrian muttered as he got to his feet and made his way cautiously over to the door.

Darrian's mind was racing with possibilities (one of the neighbors, perhaps? Or maybe even a sister from the Chantry?) as he made his way to the door. It came to a screeching stop when he opened it and saw who stood on the other side.

"Buenas tardes, my long-legged friend." Zevran.

 _Oh no_. He stood there, unable to think for a solid three seconds as he stared gape-mouthed down at the blond-haired ex-Crow. "Hey!" he finally managed. "What are you doing here, Zevran?"

Zevran's eyes narrowed for a fraction of a second before he shrugged one shoulder. "I…have something I would like to discuss with you. May I come in?"

Hoping that the pounding in his chest and ears wasn't audible, Darrian could only nod in response, before taking a step backwards and opening the door wide.

Zevran glided into the house with a smile, but then froze when he saw the elves sitting at the table. "Forgive me—I did not realize you had company. Perhaps another time would be best?"

Shianni leapt to her feet. "It's alright. We were just leaving, weren't we, Soris?"

"You don't have to do that," Darrian said, too quickly if Shianni's wide-eyed glance was any indication. He tried to will the blush away from his face as Zevran turned and scrutinized him. Willing his voice to be even, it was his turn to shrug a shoulder. "My cousins know all about our little…operation." He shot Zev what he hoped was a knowing smirk. "It's the wife you've got to watch out for, but she isn't here." He gestured at one of the empty chairs at the table.

"I see," said Zevran, as he moved to take a seat. "That is too bad—I was hoping to finally meet her." He smiled luridly at Shianni, who had sat back down. "I suppose I will simply have to settle for this lovely creature instead."

Shianni's face folded into a frown, but before she could speak, Darrian cleared his throat. "Zevran, you remember my cousins, don't you?" He gestured with his head as he took the last empty seat. "Shianni, Soris, remember Zevran?"

"Good to see you again," Shianni said with a tight smile.

Zevran picked up her hand and brought it to his lips. "The pleasure is all mine, I assure you," he murmured in a seductive tone not unlike one Darrian had used on occasion.

Shianni's cheeks flushed. "Er…yeah. Sure, whatever," she said, pulling back her hand and shooting Darrian a displeased look.

It made him feel strangely guilty, watching someone put the moves on his cousin, but what could he do? He gave a tiny shrug and then turned to Zevran. "So...what did you want to talk to me about?" He was surprised at how level he was able to keep his voice, when internally he was screaming. Shianni was surprised too, apparently, given the look she gave him.

Fortunately, Zevran didn't catch her shocked expression. "Ah, yes. Well, ordinarily I wouldn't talk business in front of ahh…family…but I do not think the Arl of Denerim has any allies in this house, am I right?" He gave Soris and Shianni a crooked smile.

Soris shook his head. "He sure doesn't," he said, a bit too emphatically, Darrian thought.

"Fuck him and every other shem," Shianni muttered, crossing her arms across her chest.

 _At least that was an authentic reaction._ If Zevran thought their behavior odd, however, he didn't show it. He merely chuckled at Shianni's outburst. "I didn't think so. In any case, the man has an event coming up that my friends and I dearly wish to attend, if you understand my meaning." He winked at Soris, who glanced at Darrian with wide eyes.

"An event?" Darrian's voice didn't crack on the word, thank the Maker. He was trying his hardest to keep his expression neutral, but inside, he was doing backflips. Could it really be true? Had Shianni's plan worked?

Zevran nodded. "Indeed. An intimate affair—only a few dozen guests, which makes the prospect of sneaking in all the more difficult." He looked Darrian up and down before raising his eyebrows. "We could use someone of your…stature…to pose as a guard."

"W-why? What's so important about this party?"

Darrian was about to kick Soris under the table for the question when he realized it was a perfectly legitimate inquiry—none of them knew what it was that would draw the Wardens to the trap the Arl set.

Zevran seemed to ponder Soris for a moment before giving the slightest little shrug. "There was a name on the list. The person is someone who deals with…let's call them 'difficult to acquire' items. My friends have reason to believe that the arl is planning to sell just such an item to this dealer." He laced his fingers together and rested them on the table. "My friends would like to acquire this item for themselves. Understand?"

"Not really," Darrian mumbled, screwing his eyebrows upward and trying to appear confused. For once, he was lying about not following something he actually did understand. "But, it doesn't really matter. I'm…pretty sure I'm going to be busy that night."

He had to bite his lip to keep from crying out at the sharp pain in his shin when Shianni kicked him under the table. "Oh?" Zevran said, shooting him a look of disbelief. "But I haven't even told you the date."

Staidly ignoring Shianni's appalled expression, Darrian shot a rueful grin at Zevran. "Doesn't matter when it is. My wife would want me to tell you I'm busy."

"Ahh," Zevran said, and Darrian fancied he could feel the tension leave the room. "I see. That is a pity, as you would be most useful in this endeavor." He placed his palms on the table and then stood, before nodding in turn at each elf. "I'll disturb you no longer, my friend."

Darrian stood and guided Zevran to the front door, feeling near faint with relief for having survived the encounter. Just a few steps, and he could get Zevran out of the house…

"Oh! _Brasca_ , where are my manners?" Zevran stopped suddenly, and then glanced toward the back of the house…where the thick charcoal colored blanket served as a curtain separating the common area from the bedrooms in the back…where his father lay sleeping. "I should have asked after your father," Zevran said, amber eyes returning to Darrian's face, looking suddenly clearer and sharper, somehow. "I trust Cyrion is well?"

He couldn't help the dry swallow Zevran's question elicited. "What, Pa? Oh…y-yeah, he's great." He gave an apologetic smile and then said in a quiet voice, "he likes to have couple drinks every now and then with a friend by the docks." He shrugged a shoulder, hoping he appeared simply embarrassed. "It's…well, no harm comes of it, so I don't object, you know?"

Zevran seemed to study him for the span of a breath, and then his face broke into a grin. "It is wise to indulge our elders when we can, no? Please, send him my regards."

The house was silent for almost a full minute, as the elves waited for Zevran to make his way down the dirt road toward the city gate. Darrian craned his neck to watch his progress, and when the blond head finally disappeared, he breathed an audible sigh as he made his way back toward his chair. "Maker, that was almost…fuck."

Shianni's eyes were wide and bright. "Are you kidding me? That was awesome. The plan is totally working!"

Soris smiled and shook his head. "It does seem to be working out like we hoped."

 _"I trust Cyrion is well?"_  Something in that last exchange left Darrian's stomach unsettled. "I am not so sure." He looked up at Shianni with a wince. "I think maybe…I think he might know."

He didn't quite recognize the sound Shianni made at that. "Wha— How could he possibly know? There's no way to connect us to that list." She sat back and crossed her arms over her chest, shaking her head back and forth. "You're just being paranoid. You can't even recognize a win when you've earned one."

Darrian rubbed the back of his neck and frowned down at the table. What did he really have to go on, anyway? A look in Zevran's eye? That was hardly proof of anything. Shianni was probably right. He ought to be happy the plan was working, and not dwell on stupid fears. "You're right," he said, forcing a smile. "I'm sure you're right."

For all of their sake, he sincerely hoped so.

* * *

The fluttering of feathered wings was an oddly sharp sound, splitting the silence of the night with its windy ruckus. Zevran glanced up just in time to see a large black bird land some five feet away from him. There was a flash, and then an acrid smell filled his nostrils as Morrigan appeared in front of him, where the bird had been.

"You were correct," she said without preamble, stalking over to where Zevran sat on a log by the camp's central fire. "The father lies ill…seemingly with symptoms very much akin to what the Arl of Redcliffe has suffered."

He took a deep breath and let it out, staring at the fire. It wasn't that he was surprised—quite the contrary. The better part of his day had been spent meticulously unraveling a trail of clues…and then making a few guesses and leaps of intuition. It…had not been coincidence, after all, that Darrian had made himself scarce of late. He'd at first believed the young lad when he'd claimed that his wife objected to their little 'street cleaning' operation—he'd had no reason not to believe him, at least not then.

But coincidences…too many of them made him suspicious, especially when a lead seemed almost too good to be true. A part of him grudgingly had to concede that it was Elissa's influence that made him follow up on Darrian's absence—imagining the interrogation he would surely endure once Elissa found out about the clue had propelled him to dig deeper and confirm his suspicions.

Zevran took out the parchment he'd purchased from Cesar and rolled it up, before producing a string from his pack and tying it securely around the scroll. He handed it to Morrigan. "You'll need to take this to Elissa. Tell her everything that we have learned."

Morrigan took the scroll, but then hesitated, holding the paper out before her. "Everything?" She pulled her arm back and crossed her arms to her chest, looking down at Zevran. "Do you wish to hear my advice?"

He felt his eyebrows rise of their own accord. He hadn't known the witch to offer advice thus far to anyone, unbidden or otherwise. "Yes," he said, lips curling into a smile. "Of course I want to hear from a mind as dangerous and beautiful as your own."

She ignored his obvious flirting. "Do not tell Elissa of this Tabris' family member and his suffering. She will…she is likely to jeopardize this whole endeavor in a misguided attempt to right a wrong that has nothing to do with us."

He was struck speechless for a few seconds, both at Morrigan's candor and the surprisingly perceptive content. "She may," he conceded at last. "She…can be soft-hearted—"

"The Warden's most valuable quality is her ability to use reason and logic to solve problems." Both Morrigan and Zevran startled at the deep, booming voice that sounded out from behind Zevran's place by the fire. Sten took a few steps and appeared in the firelight. "Keeping this information from her serves no purpose other than to hamper her from contributing where she is most qualified to do so."

That was, by far, the most words Zevran had ever heard Sten use at one time. "I had no idea Elissa had earned so much of your respect."

There was a hint of a frown for an instant on the giant's face. "She has not."

"I see," said Zevran, clenching his teeth just a bit. Conversations with Sten were always frustrating. The giant gave so little in any exchange. It rankled. "Because it seemed from the way that you were speaking just now that she had indeed captured a good measure of your respect—"

"The ability to reason is only the most basic and essential quality any leader should possess. It means nothing without strength, without clarity of purpose."

Rubbing his forehead eased the pain there, if only a little. "Of course," he answered, unwilling to engage Sten any further, and feeling oddly defensive of his soft-hearted student. He turned toward Morrigan. "You must tell her everything," he said. "Tell her… tell her we have been betrayed."

"As you wish," Morrigan said with a sigh. Zevran looked away, and with a flash she had changed shape and flown off.

"Let us see how much the little dove has learned," he said, too quiet for Sten or anyone else to hear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sincere thanks to both Riptide Monzarc and gingergen for offering me their time and attention and wonderfully helpful comments on my work.


	44. Thrum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair has a lot on his mind.

_And it's beginning to get to me  
_ _That I know more of the stars and sea  
_ _Than I do of what's in your head  
_ — _It's Beginning to Get to Me,_ Snow Patrol

The difference between Alistair's Grey Warden senses and his Templar abilities was, quite literally, skin-deep. It seemed to him that he felt the Taint thrumming in his very blood, whereas he felt magic as if it danced across his skin, making the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stand up.

It was this epidermal sensation that first started tugging Alistair toward consciousness. Warmth and a humming vibration invaded his dream, until the illusions of the Fade dissipated as he blinked his eyes awake in a drowsy stupor.

His second sensation upon waking was pain—a dull ache had settled into his left side. As his vision focused, a stone ceiling sloping upward into dark shadows materialized above him. Thick wooden beams covered with dust and cobwebs criss-crossed the wide expanse of the room in which he was lying.

_The keep._

It all came back in a rush—they'd made camp in the main hall, spreading out their bedrolls in a semicircle around the fire. Before that, they'd fought wave after wave of demons while Avernus performed a ritual to close the Veil. And before that, they'd met and killed Sophia Dryden—or what was left of her. And before  _that…_

"Rats, you're awake."

The voice startled him, and he winced at the pain jerking his head to the left elicited. Solona sat on her heels on the floor beside him. She was dressed in the silver and blue uniform of the Wardens. Her staff lay on the ground beside her. He furrowed his brow, trying to shake off the fog of sleep. "You…you were casting on me."

She held up her hands in mock surrender. "Guilty as charged," she said, giving a shrug and then pulling up her sleeves. "Sometimes healing can be…uncomfortable—was hoping to have you sleep through it."

"Oh." He tried to lift his left arm, but it was wrapped in bandages against his chest. The dull ache turned into pinpricks of sharp pain from his shoulder to his hip at his movement. He groaned.

Solona gave an impatient sigh. "Also? You don't tend to move as much when you sleep. Can I keep going?" She held her hands a few inches above his left arm.

He'd been healed enough times to wish he had been able to stay asleep. He nodded. "Sure. Sorry." Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and tried to relax. "Go ahead."

As Solona gathered the energy from the Fade around her, his mind wandered over other recent events. Yesterday had been a tense day in more ways than one, he remembered now.  _Ever since the tent._ The anxious trepidation he'd felt all day flared to life with the memory of the previous morning fresh in his mind again. Ever since then, things with he and Elissa had been awkward and strained.  _Like the good old days all over again._

He'd been trying not to focus on it too much—trying not to second guess his every thought and movement. He told himself that he knew very well what had happened. Or at least, he thought he did. He had a theory anyway, a rather good one. Technically he had  _two_  theories but he was relatively certain Elissa finding him repulsive naked wasn't the real reason she'd put a stop to things.

_Mostly_  certain, anyway.

He sucked in a breath as the healing energy from Solona went from an intense pressure to a stinging ache, but he managed to keep still. Moving would just cause Solona to be cross and make the entire ordeal take longer—two facts he knew all too well from prior experiences.

As he lay there, focusing on his breathing and drawing on the discipline he'd learned as a Templar to concentrate on keeping still, it occurred to him how silent the great hall was. And then it hit him—the Taint in his blood was utterly quiet, too. His eyes flew open and he looked around the room, but he and Solona were alone. "Where's Elissa?"

Solona did not meet his gaze, but her frown grew deeper as she stared intently at her hands, just above his side. He snapped his mouth closed and let his head fall back, trying to be patient as he waited for her to finish casting.

He'd been dreaming before Solona started healing him—a frustrating dream produced out of anxiety, no doubt, where he was continuously looking for Elissa in a never-ending corridor lined with doors. Taking another deep breath it occurred to him how odd it was  _not_ to feel the corruption in his veins singing in the presence of another Warden.

The ability to sense other Wardens turned out to be the side effect of the Joining that had affected him the most. He had been unprepared for the sensation when he first felt the thrum within him. At first, it had been weak—a low, barely-perceptible hum. But then as the days wore on the sensation grew stronger. The thrum grew into a buzzing at the back of his skull whenever another Warden was near; it was downright nausea-inducing in the presence of darkspawn.

After awhile, he grew accustomed to the buzz in his veins when he was surrounded by Wardens. It became something that he learned to ignore—just another backdrop sensation that went along with consciousness, like breathing or smelling the air.

And then, after Ostagar, that constant, muted thrumming in his blood coalesced into a single distinctive vibrato: Elissa.

A loud sigh brought him out of his musing, and his eyes snapped to Solona's. "She's off exploring the grounds. I think she's been up for hours, actually."

"She's off exploring alone?"

"She took Prince with her. And Levi's around here somewhere." She made a dismissive gesture with her left hand. "The Veil's closed, demons and undead are dead…again. Seemed safe enough. Now, can I finish healing you before we play another round of twenty questions?"

Her frown was annoyed, but not overly so. He gave her a meek smile. "Sure. Sorry," he said again, taking another deep breath and preparing for the next spell. Already the ache in his side had lessened, and the skin under his bandages was turning itchy. Those were good signs.

To tell the truth, he was a little surprised he hadn't woken when Elissa got up. It was embarrassing how quickly he'd gotten used to sleeping and waking next to her. They'd only started this routine a few days ago, and yet already he felt oddly empty at waking up alone.

She'd been curled up beside him, he remembered all of a sudden. He blinked up at the ceiling as the memory surfaced. He'd been asleep, but something woke him, and then he'd turned and saw Elissa…

_She was crying. She was sitting on her bedroll, hugging her knees and sobbing._

_The anxiety and awkwardness he'd felt all day evaporated. It occurred to him that he hadn't seen her break down like this since that day in the Korcari Wilds. "Elissa," he whispered, stretching out his arm. She was just out of reach. "Elissa," he said again, more loudly._

_Her head snapped up and she looked at him with wide, red-rimmed eyes, before looking away and hurriedly wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "I'm sorry I woke you," she mumbled, before lying down on her side, facing him. "Go back to sleep."_

_He stretched a little further, trying to touch her arm with his fingertips. "What's wrong?"_

_She didn't answer for a long moment—she just lay there staring at him, lips parted slightly. Finally, she seemed to rouse. "Nothing. A dream." She gave a shrug, and then frowned at something in the distance behind him, looking as sad as he'd ever seen her. "Just a stupid dream."_

_His brow furrowed as he tried to fight off his drowsiness. "I thought the litany helped with that?"_

_She returned her gaze to his and then stared at him blankly, as if she didn't know what he was talking about, before at last giving her head a small shake. "Not that kind of dream," she muttered._

_Something in his chest tightened at her confession. But of course, Elissa didn't need the darkspawn's help having nightmares. Arl Howe had already given her a plentiful share of nightmare fuel._ The poor thing." _Come here," he whispered, still trying to reach her without lifting himself off the bedroll._

_She finally noticed his reaching hand and slid hers over it, flicking her gaze over his form. "No. Your injuries—"_

" _Are on the other side." He gave her hand a little tug. "Come here." His tone was half plead, half command._

_Still, she hesitated, seeming to suck in a breath and hold it for a few heartbeats, before she let it out and then slid over to him, curling up against him and resting her head on his shoulder. Her cheek was warm against his bare skin, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It felt like she belonged there._

He should have stayed awake. He should have talked to her more, gotten her to maybe open up a bit. For all the time they'd spent together, they still had not talked about Duncan or her family. It was easier  _not_ to talk about it, for him anyway, and Elissa didn't seem inclined to discuss her feelings either.

But now, he wondered…

There was nothing for it, though. It had felt far too comfortable, far too  _right,_ holding Elissa close to him. Something about the way his blood felt when she was near put him in such a state of blissful peace that he couldn't help falling back asleep. For that moment, at least, the awkwardness between them was gone.

But upon waking, he found that she had fled. Things were back to being anxious and unsure, Alistair realized, letting out a resigned sigh at the missed opportunity.

Solona didn't notice. She sat back on her haunches with a huff of breath. "There. That ought to hold you together for another day," she said with a wan smile.

He laughed. "That's an understatement." He tried lifting his arm just a little again, as an experiment, and was rewarded with a only a dull ache. "This is so much better. Thank you."

She accepted his thanks with a curt nod and then picked up her staff and got to her feet. "Feel free to try standing if you're up for it. I think another day or two of rest couldn't hurt you, but you'll recover." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as Alistair struggled to sit up. "Your range of movement is going to be limited for awhile though," she said, before leaning over and offering him a hand.

He took it and, with her help, managed to get first to a sitting position, and then up on his feet, feeling her watchful gaze on him the whole time. When at last he stood under his own power, she cocked her head to the side and peered up at him. "How you feeling? Any dizziness? If you need to sit down, just say so…"

"No, no I'm fine," Alistair said, surprised at the truth of it. He still felt like one giant walking bruise, but he could stand under his own power without going dizzy from pain. Creation magic was a beautiful thing. "Thanks again…really. I don't know how we managed before you and Wynne joined us."

At that, he could have sworn Solona blushed…just a little. "Don't mention it," she said, before cocking her head to the side. "And thank  _you_  for getting in between Elissa and that demon. I don't think even Wynne could have saved her if it had finished its attack."

He was back in that half second when he thought he wasn't going to be fast enough, thought the demon was going to end Elissa's life right in front of him, after everything they'd been through…

"Yeah, well," he said, giving a little cough. "That's my job."

"And we're thankful that you do it. Seriously, even if she is grumpy, I wouldn't have wanted to see our brave but diminutive leader go out like that."

"Grumpy?"

"Yeah, be warned—she's in a mood this morning." Solona frowned up at him, cocking her head to the side. "What'd you do to her anyway?"

"Me? Do? I…I didn't do anything." That was the issue. Sort of. "Why? Did she…did she say something to you?"

"She said she didn't want to talk about it."

_It._ "She said she didn't want to talk about it? Those were her exact words?"

"Something along those lines, yeah."

_It._  His guts twisted at the word. That one little pronoun could cause this much anxiety was perhaps a bit troubling, but something about that vague 'it' felt ominous. It was an admission of  _something._ There was an  _it_  to avoid talking about, after all. He looked up to see Solona staring at him out of the corners of her eyes. "Do you…want to talk about it?" she offered with a little wince.

He shook his head. "No, thank you. That's…kind of you. But, it's personal…private…between Elissa and I." He tried to pull off a mature air about the whole thing but the effect was probably ruined by the flaming blush that was starting to crawl up his face. He  _couldn't_  talk about this with Solona though. Leliana… _maybe._ But definitely not Solona.

She shrugged and turned away. "Suit yourself," she said as she made her way over to a small wooden table by the hearth. Some dried fruit, bread, and cheese were laid out on it, along with their waterskins, heavy with cold water from the snow they'd packed in them last night. His stomach growled at the sight and he made his way over as Solona flopped in one of the chairs.

He tried to let his concerns roll away as he sat and ate with Solona, chatting amiably about the history of the Keep and the Wardens in Fereldan. Seeing her enthusiasm for the topic was a relief. It seemed that ever since Elissa made the Joining a choice, Solona seemed more inclined to go through with it. He wondered if that was Elissa's plan all along. They disagreed on the need for Warden secrecy—Elissa thought that all voluntary Warden recruits should be made aware of the possibility of death at the Joining, as well as the other side effects. Conscripts, she believed, could still be forced to drink, but no one else.

He figured that the Wardens knew best how to run the organization and that they shouldn't meddle with tradition, but without means to perform a Joining the argument wasn't all that relevant. Now, though, Solona's attitude seemed to support Elissa's claims that keeping the secrets were unnecessary. She was probably right. She was always right.

Some twenty minutes later, Alistair felt the the first whisper in his blood. He shoved the heel of bread he'd been nibbling in his mouth, and then tried to concentrate on the sensations. After a few seconds, he looked up at Solona. "Elissa's coming."

Solona's eyebrows rose. "Or Avernus."

"No, it's Elissa."

"Your Warden senses can tell who is who?"

"Well…" He'd never been able to tell the difference before, that was true. "Maybe it's because he's so old," he said with a shrug, feeling the buzzing grow stronger as Elissa came closer. "But it's different."

The humming in his veins was followed by the sound of footsteps in the hall, and then Prince burst into the room, tail wagging, and happily panting, followed a few seconds later by Elissa.

Prince dashed to where they were sitting, pawing at Alistair for scraps. He absentmindedly threw the dog a strip of dried meat as he watched Elissa make her way over.

She didn't have her leathers on this morning—she wore just a thick cotton shirt and a pair of trousers tucked into her soft-skin leather boots. Her hair hung in a braid down her back—it was damp all around her hairline and her cheeks were rosy.

She followed Prince over to the table where Solona and Alistair sat without a word, before grabbing a water-skin and drinking deeply. When she finished, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, nodding at Alistair. "Good, you're up," she said breathlessly, before turning to Solona. "I have a question about your abilities."

Solona looked up from scratching Prince's ears. "Good morning to you too, Elissa. He's fine, by the way." She pointed her chin in Alistair's direction.

Elissa's eyes went wide as she glanced at Alistair. Her whole face went red as she turned back to Solona, seeming unsure who to address. "I…that's…I'm relieved…I just…" Snapping her mouth closed, she fell silent for a heartbeat before glaring down at Solona with a scowl. "You said he would be fine last night."

The tips of his ears were burning and he had a pit in his stomach he was trying to ignore.  _She's just distracted._  And if Solona told her he was fine last night Elissa would see no point in asking again. She wasn't one for obvious questions, he told himself. "It's fine," he said, hoping his cheerful tone didn't sound too forced. "What were you up to anyway? You look like you've been running or something."

"I have," Elissa said, relaxing her shoulders. She took another drink from her water-skin.

"From what?" Solona asked, voice pitched high with incredulity.

"From nothing. I was just running." At their blank stares she rolled her eyes. "For conditioning? Surely you practiced such exercise during your Templar training?"

"Well sure," he admitted. "But those were forced marches. Emphasis on the  _forced_."

Sighing loudly, she replaced the waterskin on the table. "I like running," she said, giving a little shrug. "It clears the mind." Her face folded into a scowl. "This is hardly worth all the breath we've spent on it," she said sharply, turning to Solona with a huff. "May I ask you my question now?"

Solona shot him a look that he could practically hear (" _See? Told ya. Grumpy."_ ) before clasping her hands together and resting them on the table. "How can I be of service, Your Ladyship?"

If Elissa detected the sarcasm (she was getting better at it, so he gave it a 50/50 chance nowadays), she chose to ignore it. Instead, she rested her hands on the table and leaned forward, lowering her voice to just above a whisper. "Could you use your gifts to convince Avernus to do something for us?"

Solona's face paled and her hand froze on top of Prince's head for a few seconds, before a thought seemed to occur to her. "Ah, no, actually," she said, sounding relieved. "I can't."

"Why ever not?" Elissa stood up straight and put her hands on her hips, eyes flashing with sudden irritation.

Solona's dark brown eyebrows knit together. "Did you listen at all when Levi talked about the dreams that brought him here?"

Elissa looked taken aback. "I…no…I don't remember…"

"That's right," Solona smirked. "You two were too busy pawing at each other to listen."

Elissa glanced at Alistair, before quickly looking away. Ignoring the knot in his stomach, he leaned forward. "What about these dreams?"

"Well, Levi admitted that the only reason he knew his way through the mines was because of these dreams he had. Last I checked, Levi ain't a mage, so I didn't think some demon would waste its time teaching him how to navigate a maze of underground tunnels. But, we know who could, don't we? A dreamer could."

Elissa's face, which only a moment before had turned a bright pink, went pale. "So…you think Avernus is a  _dreamer_  too?"

Solona shrugged. "It's the best explanation I can think of." She unclasped her hands and rested her elbows on the table. "I'm not saying that he was a born  _somniari_  or anything. I mean, there are…there are ways to gain dreamer-like powers for a temporary time. He could have done something like that. But, even so…"

"He's unlikely to be susceptible to your abilities," Elissa finished for her in a whisper.

Solona lifted her hands, palms facing up. "Sorry, but yeah."

The news seemed to devastate Elissa. She let out an enormous sigh, and her shoulders slumped, as she stared at the table, looking utterly defeated.

"What is it you wanted him to do, anyway?"

She turned to him, mouth parted slightly and eyes going wide for a second before she gave her head a shake. "This whole Joining situation. I'm wondering if we shouldn't just … make Avernus come with us."

He shared a look with Solona. She curled her lip in distaste. "Ew."

"My thoughts exactly," he murmured, raising an eyebrow at Elissa. "Are you sure you'd want him as a companion? He's a blood mage…probably a dreamer and possibly even…something worse. Would you really want him around?"

Elissa closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. "I suppose you're right," she said.

He waited, but she didn't seem inclined to continue when she opened her eyes. She just stood there, contemplating the water-skin on the table with a deep frown.

He was about to ask her how she slept, apart from the nightmare, when the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. His head jerked up, just as Prince let out a sharp bark, shot to his feet, and bolted out the door. "Magic," Alistair said, using the table to help himself stand. "Someone is casting, right outside."

The three of them jumped into action. Well, to be more precise, Solona and Elissa jumped into action—he kind of shuffled into it as quickly as he could. Solona grabbed her staff that had been resting against the table and stood, while Elissa dashed to the pack that she'd left sitting on her bedroll.

All he could do in his condition was put himself between the two women and the door. He'd barely managed to take the few steps required to get in front of Solona when Prince reappeared, practically dancing in circles and barking happily. A few seconds later, and Alistair understood.

Morrigan.

_Ugh. Just what I need._ She must have flown here, and he'd sensed her shape-shift when she arrived.

She strode into the room, glancing around with her eyebrows raised, an expression of something like admiration on her face. She glanced at each of them before settling her gaze on Elissa. "So, 'twould appear the merchant wasn't lying after all," she said, as Elissa made her way over, having abandoned the pack on her bedroll when she saw it was just Morrigan. "Though this place is badly in need of repair."

Solona stepped up next to Alistair. "Yeah, but, can you imagine how it was before?" she said with an excited grin. "This place must have been something to see back in the day."

Morrigan's lips twitched at Solona's enthusiam. "Indeed," she said, looking around the room again as if trying to imagine what it must have been like. "Once the Wardens flourished, their ranks full, their calibre certain," she said in a lofty tone, before turning to sneer at Alistair. "Now they even accept people like you, Alistair."

"Hello, Morrigan. It's really awful to see you."

"Likewise."

"What are you doing here?" Elissa cut in, sounding frantic. "What's going on? Is everyone alright?"

Morrigan held up one hand. "Everyone is fine _._ You needn't worry."

"Oh," Elissa said, exhaling loudly. She cocked her head to the side. "Then what is it?

"Yeah," Alistair drawled. "Why have you inflicted us with your presence this morning?"

She spared Alistair another sneer but then turned to answer Elissa, a hint of a smile on her lips. "The antidote has been located."

Elissa's eyes went wide. "They've found it!" she said, her mouth falling open in shock. "That's wonderful! Maker, finally a bit of good news. Where was it? Was it at Loghain's estate? Does Leliana have it on her?"

"'Twas not Leliana who found it, but Zevran." Morrigan produced a scroll from some hidden pocket in that monstrosity she called a skirt. "He bade me travel here at great haste, to give you this," she said, holding it out for Elissa to take.

Elissa didn't take the proffered scroll immediately; she stared at it for a few heartbeats, before taking a step forward and snatching it out of the swamp witch's hand. She studied Morrigan's face a few more moments before tearing her gaze away and unrolling the scroll.

"What the fuck is going on?" Solona said in a loud whisper, bumping his good arm with her elbow.

"It's a guest list," Elissa said quietly, not taking her eyes from the paper in her hand. "For an event at the Arl of Denerim's estate, a week from now." She suddenly clenched her fist, wrinkling the parchment. " _Nathaniel_?" Her eyes were wide with shock when she glanced up at them. "I had no idea he was back from the Free Marches…" She trailed off as she looked away, seemingly lost in thought. He was about to ask " _Nathaniel who?"_  when she shook her head firmly. "It's irrelevant. That's not the name Zevran wants me to see, is it?" she asked, looking at Morrigan, who merely shrugged a shoulder with a serene expression. Elissa didn't wait for a response. "Of course not. It's this Sabine Beaumarchais, obviously." Her face lit up with excitement. "So the antidote was in Howe's possession this whole time.  _Gah!_ " She slapped her palm against her forehead. "I can't believe I didn't think of this possibility sooner!"

He shared a confused look with Solona. "Would you mind filling us in, Elissa?"

She looked over at him, and with a pang he realized it was the first genuine smile he'd seen from her since yesterday morning. "Sabine Beaumarchais is an infamous black market dealer, known all over Thedas. She specializes in deadly rarities—weapons, explosives, curses… _poisons_." She raised an eyebrow and paused, letting the word sink in before glancing down at the list again. "She's just the kind of person we've been looking for. It's highly likely that if Howe's invited her to this party the intention is to sell her the poison and antidote during the event, only…" She fell silent, regarding the paper in her hand with a suddenly suspicious frown. After a few more long, silent moments, her shoulders slumped and she let out a sigh of resignation. "It's a trap."

Morrigan's eyebrows climbed her forehead. "How can you tell?"

Elissa turned the paper around so they could see the writing upon it. "The handwriting gives it away. See here," she said, taking a step closer. The three companions moved in as one, until they were all crowded around Elissa, staring at the paper in her hand. "The writing at the top of the list is neat and small, but as the list goes on, the writer's hand becomes tired, so the handwriting changes, becoming more slanted and sloppy." She pointed at the two names at the bottom. "But then here, the writing is neat again. So we can conclude that these names were added as an afterthought. And the fact that those two names just happen to be the ones that would interest me, in particular, the most, makes the whole thing highly suspicious." She rolled up the scroll again, and everyone took a step back.

"Couldn't we try and find this Sabine lady ourselves?" Solona asked.

"Ah, no, we can't. Beaumarchais…that was actually quite clever of Howe," Elissa said, shaking her head. "She's infamous for being a complete mystery. No one knows what she looks like, as she always sends proxies to do her business for her, which means we'd actually have to go to the party to discover who was making the sale." She clucked her tongue. "And then, of course, he really overreached when he added the name of his son." She rolled her eyes. "As if I just wouldn't be able to resist seeing him again. Pfft. Nice try, Howe."

_His son?_  "Why would he think that?" Alistair asked, a sliver of worry worming its way into his chest.

"Oh," Elissa said, meeting his eye and then glancing away. "We have…a bit of a…a bit of a history with each other."

_Terrific._ He was sorry he asked.

Morrigan actually seemed impressed. She gave a little laugh. "I wondered whether you would be able to deduce the truth from such a slim clue. You are, indeed, both clever and correct."

Her praise seemed to fall on deaf ears, for Elissa's face contorted into an angry scowl. "You knew it was a trap all along and said nothing? Why are you  _wasting my time_?"

Ordinarily that kind of venom directed at Morrigan would have made Alistair giddy with happiness, but Elissa's response caught him by surprise. Since when did she want to be  _told_ things? He caught Morrigan's eye and saw the same question written on the witch's normally inscrutable face. But then, a flicker of irritation passed over her expression and her eyes grew cold. "And deprive you of an opportunity to show us all how smart you are?" she said, a mocking lilt in her voice. "Perish the thought."

Elissa brought a hand to her forehead. "Just…just tell me what else you know, Morrigan."

Morrigan regarded her for a few seconds before shrugging a feathered shoulder. "Fine, suit yourself."

The story was a surprising one, and the three of them listened in stunned silence as Morrigan described how Zevran had acquired the guest list, how his suspicions had lead him to investigate, and finally how that investigation lead him to discover that Darrien Tabris' father had been poisoned. "'Tis obvious the elf's reward for this betrayal will be the antidote itself," she finished.

Alistair let out a low whistle. "Wow, that's terrible. I mean, I know he betrayed us, but I can't help feeling a little bad for him."

"Right?" Solona said, waving her arm. "He's caught between a rock and a hard place, isn't he?"

Morrigan's lip curled in disgust. "He would have lead you straight into the Arl of Denerim's dungeons, and you feel pity for the man?" She shook her head, looking away. "Fools."

Before he could defend himself, Elissa made a slashing gesture with her hand. "It doesn't matter," she snapped, before turning to Solona. "This event is in a week. We have to get back to Denerim to plan. Can Alistair be ready to travel in a few hours?"

Solona looked surprised, but then gave a little shrug. "He could probably travel. Might not be super effective in a fight, though," she added, looking at Alistair sympathetically. "He's going to need some time to recover fully."

Elissa nodded, looking around with a thoughtful frown. "Yes, right. That's fine. We'll have Morrigan with us, at least," she muttered. "It's going to take half a week to get back and that's only going to leave us a few days…" She trailed off, staring with unseeing eyes.

Alistair gave out a confused laugh. "Uh, I'm sorry but what? You just said it was a trap."

"Indeed," Elissa answered distractedly.

When she didn't go on, Alistair let out a frustrated sigh. "So…if we already know it's a trap, why do we need to rush back for it, unless…" A feeling of dread settled into his gut. "Elissa, you're not…you're not planning on actually walking into this trap, are you?"

His question drew Elissa out of her thoughts. She looked at him, mouth formed into a little 'o'. "I haven't planned anything, yet," she said at last, not meeting his eyes. "I need Leliana's and Zevran's expertise for that."

His eyes bulged wide. "That wasn't a 'no'."

She rolled her eyes. "No, it wasn't, obviously," she snapped. "We have an advantage here—we know the party is a trap, but Arl Howe doesn't know that we know it's a trap." She scowled up at him. "If there's a way to take advantage of that, I will. I have to."

He pinched the bridge of his nose, stifling a groan. She was impossible when she got like this, and he knew he would lose any argument he attempted now.  _Maybe Zev and Leli will talk some sense into her._

Solona seemed unruffled by the idea. "Well, if we're taking off soon, I'd better hike on up to Avernus' tower."

Elissa scowled suspiciously. "Why would you do that?"

"So I can learn the spells he needs to teach me?" Solona said, screwing up an eyebrow. "You know, for the Joining? The whole reason we came here?"

"Oh, right, of course." Elissa looked oddly flustered. "That's a good point." She glanced over at Morrigan. "Morrigan and I'll go with you so we can learn the alchemy, as well."

When he realized they were planning to leave him alone, he felt his stomach twist. The last thing he wanted to do was stew any longer on questions only Elissa could answer. He cleared his throat. "I was actually hoping to have a word with you," he said in a low voice, turning toward her. "In private."

He imagined he could feel the sneer Morrigan shot at the back of his head, but he didn't care.  _Sneer away, you shrew._ He really needed to talk to Elissa.

For her part, Elissa looked uncomfortable. She glanced at Solona and Morrigan, doubt etched into her features. "I…oh…I just…" Her mouth worked for a few seconds but no words came out. Finally she let out a sigh. "Fine," she said, to him, before turning to the mages. "Just…be careful. I…I don't think Avernus is entirely trustworthy. Just…just learn what you need to learn and come back here, alright?"

Solona and Morrigan shared a look, and then Solona shrugged. "Sure. Whatever."

"This Avernus character sounds intriguing," Morrigan said as Solona and she made their way toward the door.

Solona snorted. "He's a blood mage and probably an abomination. But, he's a Warden who knows things, so Elissa let him live."

He didn't catch Morrigan's response as they wandered out of the room. Turning back to Elissa, he saw her staring in the direction they'd left, looking pensive.

"So talking," he blurted out, and then cringed at how stupid he sounded. "We should, uh, do that."

Elissa turned to him, and there was something in her gaze he couldn't interpret. "Yes," she said quietly, looking unexpectedly somber. "We should."


	45. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solona and the rest of the gang reunite with their companions at camp, but the reunion isn't all Solona hoped it'd be.

_Every day we try to find  
_ _Search our hearts and in our minds  
_ _The place we used to call our home  
_ _Can't be found when we're alone_

— _No Envy, No Fear,_ Joshua Radin

"So, Avernus told me something kind of interesting."

Elissa must've tripped—Solona took a couple of steps before she realized her Warden commander had stopped walking. She turned back to see her brushing off her pants. "Oh?" Elissa asked, resuming her walk. "What did he say?"

They were a couple of days out from Warden's Keep. They'd cleared the mountains that morning, and were now making their way down gently sloping hills dotted with trees. There was no cover, but they'd seen so little trouble on the way up that no one felt particularly concerned now. The weather had mercifully cooperated, blooming bright and warm for the third day in a row.

They'd been walking in silence for what felt like hours now, and Solona couldn't take it anymore. She still couldn't quite get over all that they'd encountered at Soldier's Peak. Meeting Avernus and exploring the old fortress had rekindled an age-old fire in her—it was hard not to think of a ten year old version of herself, to imagine how excited she would have been to know that one day Solona would wear the uniform of the blue and gray…

Unfortunately, no one seemed to feel much like talking. The mood of the trip down the mountains was decidedly different from the one up. On the way  _to_  the Keep, the four of them had chatted amiably the whole time; the way back was much quieter. Levi had stayed behind, for one thing, sending letters with them to mail to his family when they got back to Denerim. Morrigan wasn't nearly as talkative as the friendly merchant had been, and so far neither Alistair nor Elissa had responded to her attempts at conversation.

She could tell Elissa was only pretending not to be interested, and that meant she was getting somewhere.  _Finally_. "You know in all that time he spent researching the darkspawn Taint, he never once tried to come up with a way to make the Joining less dangerous?"

Solona watched Elissa out of the corner of her eye. Her shoulders relaxed almost imperceptibly, but then she gave a thoughtful frown, "You think the Joining could be made less dangerous?"

"Well, you're the alchemist," she admitted with a shrug. "But when I talked to Avernus about it he thought it sounded promising. He said to tell you that he'd work on that as well as everything else."

She glanced over, expecting to see delight on Elissa's face. But the young noblewoman didn't look pleased at all. She was scowling at some patch of earth in front of her, her face flushed a bright pink. Before Solona could say anything, Elissa caught her staring and smoothed her expression. "Avernus is probably overstating that possibility to make himself appear more useful. I wouldn't put much stock in his claims."

It was Solona's turn to frown at the landscape before them. The tall grass they waded through waved in the wind like water. The noise of their swishing footsteps grew suddenly bothersome. "Well, I mean…maybe. But, I thought you'd be at least be excited at the possibility."

"Oh." Elissa brought her hand to her neck and tucked her chin to her chest. "Sorry…you're right. It is worth investigat—"

Whether it was a trick of the wind or Alistair was really yelling, Solona couldn't say at first, but suddenly his voice boomed out from behind them.

"I said shut up!"

Elissa and Solona turned as one. Morrigan and Alistair stood facing each other. Alistair's face was contorted into an angry scowl; Morrigan looked calmly amused. "I will run this sword through you," he spat, grasping the hilt of his sword with his good arm, and pulling it a few inches out of the sheath at his hip. "I'm not joking."

Solona's eyes bulged wide at the sudden threat of violence, but Morrigan remained uncowed. She crossed her arms across her chest and smirked. "Oh, I see.  _Most_  serious then."

Alistair's jaw worked for a few seconds, before he took his hand off his sword. "This discussion is over," he said, stalking past Morrigan, brushing her shoulder.

He froze when he spotted Elissa. His eyes went wide for a moment and then his shoulders slumped and he looked away.

Solona turned to Elissa, but she'd already started walking and was several paces ahead. Solona stood there, blinking after her. She started to say something as Alistair walked by, but the abject sadness in his expression and the way he avoided her gaze stilled her tongue. When Morrigan followed, Solona stepped in front of her path. "What the fuck was that about?" she asked in hushed whisper.

Morrigan's bored expression was entirely feigned—Solona was sure of it. She raised one eyebrow and looked at her nails. "Oh, you do not know? 'Tis surprising that Elissa did not confide in you, is it not?"

Her face felt warm and she wished she could mentally stop it. "Confide what, exactly?"

Morrigan snorted. "That she's finally come to her senses," she said. At Solona's blank stare she rolled her eyes. "She has ended her relationship with the dimwitted Templar."

"His name is Alistair," Solona snapped automatically. It was a little weird how often she felt the urge to defend Alistair from Morrigan's snark, but it was kind of like how things were with Jowan. Alistair was hers to torment, not Morrigan's.

Part of her wondered if she should offer some rebuke for fucking with the Wardens when they were so obviously still smarting, but Solona figured the conversation would do little good. She turned and followed Morrigan when the witch brushed past her.

She fell silent again, troubled by the fact that she hadn't realized what was going on. How was it that Elissa had chosen to confide in Morrigan, of all people? She knew the two often talked, but she wouldn't have pegged the swamp witch as Elissa's go-to person for relationship advice. It's not like Morrigan would give unbiased advice where Alistair was concerned.  _It doesn't make any sense._

Immersed in her thoughts and eager to get home, Solona stalked after her companions, foregoing any further attempts at conversation.

 _Home_. The idea was more than a little absurd, considering 'home' consisted of a patch of tamed wilderness littered with pup tents and furniture carved out of split wooden logs, but the truth was it was the place she'd stayed the longest since leaving the Circle Tower. Dumb as it fucking was, their little camp outside Denerim's walls was home to her, and it wasn't just her companions' ill mood that made her so anxious to return to it.

She'd missed it. Or them.  _Or her._

They wouldn't be able to see the camp until they were practically on it, she knew. They had chosen the site both because of its proximity to water (there was a clear and bubbly stream some hundred feet away) and how hard it was to find. It was nestled in a little clearing at the bottom of a slope of trees too sharp to traverse easily. They would have to swing wide of the hill and come at the camp from the east.

They reached their campsite near dusk. By then, Solona had outpaced her companions, eager to keep up with Prince as they got closer to camp. It was all she could do not to break out in a run when she finally cleared the hill and she saw the outline of their tents, but she managed somehow.

Leliana and Zevran stood by the fire. Leliana's red-haired head jerked upward at Prince's bark—the pretty Chantry sister still had her maid's attire on. "They're here!" she shouted excitedly.

And then it was just a matter of moments before everyone was standing around the campfire murmuring their hellos to Solona and patting Prince's head as he flitted to each person for affection. Wynne and Sten emerged from wherever they'd hidden themselves. Sten merely nodded a greeting while Wynne gave Solona's arm a squeeze.

Leliana pulled her into a quick hug. "It's so good to see you!" she said, before releasing her and standing back. She looked Solona up and down. "And look at you!"

"Indeed," Zevran said, nodding and smiling at Solona in greeting. "The robes are much improved."

Solona gestured at her new armor. "Pretty slick, eh?" she said, whirling around with her arms out, modeling the shiny blue and gray uniform she sported.

Leliana giggled, and then squinted off in the distance behind her. "Where are Alistair and Elissa?"

Solona smile faltered just a little as she turned and looked behind her. "They're coming," she said, just as Elissa, Morrigan and Alistair stepped into view.

Elissa strode in the lead, with Morrigan walking a few paces behind her, and Alistair bringing up the rear. As soon as they stepped into camp the three newcomers were surrounded and peppered with friendly greetings.

Leliana giggled again as she pulled first Elissa and then Alistair into quick hugs. "The three of you all look so lovely together! So professional and heroic." She stepped back and beamed up at them, in spite of how stiffly Elissa and Alistair had returned her greeting.

"Yes, it is lovely to be back, and I trust everyone is well?" Elissa's smile seemed forced as she took a step backward so that she could more easily look up at them (and down her nose at the same time, which was always kind of impressive). It clear she was ready to get down to business.

Leliana blinked at her and then glanced at Alistair. He'd greeted everyone with a smile, but now he was staring at his feet with a frown on his face. "Yes," she said softly. "We are all well." The rest of the companions fell silent and looked expectantly at Elissa.

She gave a sharp nod. "Excellent." Her eyes lit up. "So…we have our path to the antidote, at last."

Leliana and Zevran shared a look, and then Zevran turned toward Elissa, notching one eyebrow upward. "That…depends on your willingness to take advantage of our situation."

"Oh, I'm willing," Elissa said, an oddly low tone to her voice as she shot a knowing look at Zevran. "You and I have much to speak of," she said, before stealing a glance to her right where Alistair stood. "In private," she added quietly.

Zevran looked from Elissa to Alistair with the light of some mischief in his eyes, but Alistair must have appeared too pathetic for even him to poke at. He shrugged a shoulder and returned his gaze to Elissa. "You need only lead and I will, of course, follow."

Elissa nodded and then turned to Leliana, with a frown. "You haven't quit your position at Loghain's estate."

Leliana gave a small nod. "Indeed. I believe there is still valuable information to be uncovered if I remain." She tucked a lock of red hair behind one ear and shrugged a shoulder. "You and I should speak of it later."

In spite of Leliana's casual demeanor the words made something in Solona's gut twist.  _It's nothing,_  she told herself. Just because Leliana didn't want the whole group to know didn't mean she wouldn't tell Solona what it was when they were alone.

Elissa considered Leliana's words for a few seconds before nodding. "That's fine," she said, dropping her pack near one of the logs used for seating. "But first things first. We have no time to lose. Zevran?" She gestured with her head in the direction of the stream, and started walking. Zevran gave them all a little bow and made to follow.

"Give me your pack." Solona almost jumped at the voice. She turned to see Alistair standing behind her, arm outstretched, waiting. "I'll set up our tents," he mumbled.

She handed him her pack mutely, and with that gesture the reunion came to an end. Sten walked away and sat down next to a pile of armor he must have been cleaning and Wynne hovered over a bubbling pot by the fire. It was only then that Solona noticed Morrigan had already quit them to head over to her own private campsite.

As Alistair shuffled away, Leliana leaned in close. "So, what happened?" she asked quietly.

Solona smiled as the two of them walked over to one of the logs and sat down. "Maker, I don't even know where to begin," she said excitedly as she set her staff down against the log next to her. She made a wide gesture with one arm. "Of course, you know  _nothing_  is ever simple. The damn place was crawling with undead and demons when we got there."

She spent the next few minutes filling Leliana in all that had transpired. Wynne was close enough to overhear where she stood tending to dinner, and interrupted with questions of her own a few times. When she was finished, Leliana shook her head in wonder. "That all sounds amazing." Lowering her voice to just above a whisper, she leaned in and asked, "but what happened between Elissa and Alistair?"

"Oh, yeah."  _Was that all she cared about?_ Sometimes it seemed to Solona that the ex-Chantry sister was a little too invested in the Wardens' relationship. "I guess they broke up."

Leliana gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. "Why?" she asked, drawing out the word and looking thoroughly devastated.

An uneasy feeling settled into Solona's stomach, but she just shrugged. "Not sure. You'd have to ask Elissa." Out of the corner of her eye she could see that Wynne was watching them.

Leliana's eyes narrowed. "So it was Elissa who ended it? It figures." She stared off into the distance. "Poor Alistair."

The uneasy feeling in her stomach grew worse. "Yeah, poor Alistair," she agreed with a shrug. "Oh well." The smell of fresh meat and vegetables stewing over the fire filled Solona's nostrils and made her belly rumble. While she did not share the 'real' Grey Wardens' appetite, she was still pretty famished after eating only dried foodstuffs for the entire trip. "How soon 'til dinner?" she asked Wynne.

Leliana made a disgruntled noise. "Did she say nothing to you?"

Solona shook her head. "Nope." Wynne appeared at her side, pressing a bowl of stew into her hands. Solona grabbed it eagerly, delighting in the savory aroma. "Mmm, meat," she said, picking up the wooden spoon that rested in it and spooning herself a bite. She blew on it, watching the steam rise from her spoon, nearly salivating in anticipation.

"And you didn't ask?"

Solona took a deep breath and turned to Leliana, still holding her spoon poised in the air. "No, I didn't." She gave a shrug. "I tried talking to them both about it once but they weren't interested. I didn't press on account of it being…you know…none of my business."

With that she took a mouthful of stew. It was still too hot, and her eyes watered, but she delighted in the salty flavor that filled her mouth.

"Right, of course," Leliana murmured. "I just…I worry about him. He's been through so much."

Solona's mouth was full but she couldn't stay silent. " _Hmm_?" She forced down the mouthful of stew. " _Him_? Elissa's been through a lot too."

"But of course," Leliana said, waving a hand dismissively. "I meant both of them, of course."

The second bite wasn't nearly as good as the first, for some reason.  _Too much salt._  Still, she was hungry and decided to concentrate on something else for a change. She was more than a little tired of Elissa and Alistair's drama.

She had finished her first bowl of stew and was ambling over to the pot to see if she could finagle a second, when Alistair strode over to the campfire. "Dinner's ready," she announced with a smile, gesturing with the bowl in her hand toward the stewpot that rested on the camp's main fire.

Alistair stared at the fire blankly for a heartbeat, and then mumbled, "Thanks," before walking over to where Leliana was sitting on the log. Solona hurriedly scooped a small ladel-full of stew into her bowl and made her way back.

"—we could go for a walk?" Alistair was quietly addressing Leliana, but Solona caught the last of his sentence.

Leliana gave Alistair a sympathetic frown. "Of course," she murmured, standing up. She noticed Solona walking up to them and stepped closer so she could hand her an empty bowl. "Be a dear and take care of this," she said, stealing a look over her shoulder at Alistair. She turned back to Solona and whispered. "I think he needs to talk. Poor thing."

 _That's just great._ Aloud, Solona said, "Sure." She accepted the empty bowl and watched as Leliana and Alistair strode away—heading in the opposite direction of where Elissa and Zevran had gone. Leliana leaned in close to Alistair and touched his arm, whispering something as he bent his head.

Solona stalked back over to the pot and tossed the empty bowl in the wash bucket before sitting back down. Just as she was spooning herself a bite, Wynne settled in next to her. She stiffened, anticipating what would happen next.

She wasn't wrong. Wynne leaned in and said quietly, "Honestly, I think it's all for the best. It may be difficult for them both to see right now, but in the long run it will be better if they are free to perform their duty without other commitments."

Solona ground her teeth together as she stared into her bowl. The last thing she wanted to do was get into a gossip session with the old lady. She managed to stay quiet by shoving a spoonful of stew in her mouth instead.

Wynne took a deep breath and shook her head. "I know Elissa was concerned with balancing her duties as a Warden with her relationship with Alistair." She lowered her chin. "I don't mind telling you, I advised her to end it."

Solona's head jerked up and she stared at Wynne with wide eyes, several emotions warring for dominance within her body at that moment. She chose the most immediate one to vocalize. "Elissa talked to  _you_ about Alistair?"

Wynne gave a little frown at Solona's incredulous tone and expression. "We spoke of many things—her duty as a Grey Warden being paramount."

"Maker, you are a meddlesome busybody!"

"That is hardly fair. I merely offered my opinion."

Solona groaned. "Your opinion sucks! It's like you hate fun."

"Well, I must admit, I am surprised. I wouldn't have thought you would care so much."

"I don't," she insisted. "I mean, not like that." She frowned and glanced in the direction where Leliana and Alistair had walked, before turning back to Wynne with a smirk. "I just think that if you're tasked with saving the world you should be able to shag whoever the fuck you want."

" _Solona,_ " Wynne said in a breathy whisper, shaking her head and moving away from her.  _Finally._

She finished her stew in blissful silence and then headed off to her tent for bed.

She hadn't been lying there for very long, staring at the canvas roof, when she heard a voice from just outside. "Leliana?"

It was Elissa. "She's not here."

"Do you know where she went?"

"She and Alistair went for a walk."

She counted three or four heartbeats of silence before she heard the rustle of the tent flap and Elissa's head poked in. "They went for a walk? How long ago?"

Solona sighed and sat up, reaching for the staff that lay by her bedroll. She murmured a word of magic and the top of it started to glow, illuminating the inside of the tent so she could see Elissa's head sticking through the tent flaps.

The noblewoman looked positively pained.  _Awful rich reaction for someone who dashed off with Zevran the second we got here._ "I don't know. An hour or so?"

"Oh." Elissa frowned as she moved fully into the tent, letting the canvas fall closed behind her. She sat with her legs crossed on top of Leliana's bedroll—or the spot where Leliana's bedroll would be once she moved back in with Solona. She frowned as she was struck with a sudden worry—what if Leliana decided not to bother moving back to her tent, and Elissa became her permanent bunkmate instead?  _That would suck._

"I imagine you're curious about my reasons for…for ending my relationship with Alistair."

Solona's eyebrows climbed her forehead, surprised to be pulled out of her thoughts by such a question. Elissa was staring at her hands in her lap, looking pensive. "Well, I…"  _To tell the truth, I'm apparently the only person who doesn't particularly care why…_ she couldn't quite say that thought aloud, though. Elissa had been too decent to her, and looked a little too somber, for her to be so crass. "Sure," she finished at last.

Elissa waited a moment before continuing, the muscles in her neck growing taut before she exhaled loudly. "It just would have never worked out, of course." She met Solona's gaze. "Considering who he is and all…it just wouldn't work out."

Solona cocked her head to the side and narrowed her eyes. "Who is he?"

Elissa stared at her for a heartbeat. "You're serious?" She gave a hint of a smile. "Neither Zevran nor Leliana told you?"

Her gut twisted. A flash of memory ( _Neria and Jowan's heads bent together, speaking quietly so she oculdn't hear)_ left her feeling an uncomfortable sort of nostalgia. "Told me what?"

Elissa's mouth fell open and she gaped at Solona for a few seconds before finally shrugging. "Why not? Alistair is Maric's bastard. He's the last surviving Theirin."

It was Solona's turn to gape. "But…that's just a rumor. I should know—I started it!"

Elissa shook her head. "It's the truth—" she stopped and cocked her head to the side. "You started a rumor that Alistair was Maric's bastard?"

 _Fuck._ It really was true. Solona barked out a loud laugh and clapped a hand over her mouth. "Holy shit! That's…that's…yeah, some of the mages that went with us to Ostagar were a little…well…they were  _big fans_ of the handsome ex-Templar, let's say."

"Big fans?"

"You know…he's actually nice and easy on the eyes and he's got this whole ex-Templar thing going on…I know it's a little weird, but what can I say? Mages are a kinky bunch. I just fanned the flames by inventing that story." She laughed, rocking back and forth and shaking her head. "Oh my god! I can't believe it's actually true. That's hilarious."

"Yes. Women find Alistair appealing. That's hilarious," Elissa said in flat tone.

 _It wasn't just women,_  Solona had to bite her tongue to keep from retorting. The pinched expression on Elissa's face gave her twinges of guilt. "Sorry," she said softly. But then, a thought struck her. "I don't get it though. How exactly is this a problem? Isn't your blood just as blue as his?"

Elissa blinked at her a few seconds, and Solona couldn't quite read the emotion that flickered across her expression before she seemed to understand Solona's point. "Yes, well, that's…that's not quite good enough, you see." She took a deep breath. "In order for us to defeat the Blight, we need to unite the armies of Ferelden and oust the usurper Loghain. Alistair is our best way of doing that—he's got the birthright, and if we have Arl Eamon on our side…we have a shot. But…" She turned and looked at the tent walls, but her eyes seemed to focus on some spot much farther away. "We'll need all the support we can get from the other nobles. Alistair will already have Highever's support, once he reinstates me as Teyrna, but his hand in marriage…that could buy us a crucial vote."

Elissa trailed off and she seemed lost in her thoughts, staring at the walls of the tent without seeing. Her brows knit together, forming a crease, and her lips pulled into a deep frown. The light from Solona's staff reflected in the glassiness of her eyes.

Solona didn't have much experience or interest in royal politics, and what Elissa had said sounded plausible enough, but she couldn't shake the feeling that there was something else going on…some other reason that was motivating her. If this decision truly made her so sad, it seemed like she'd be able to think up some solution out of it. "So, what? You're going to marry him off to someone else in the name of politics?"

Elissa faced her, blinking rapidly. "I…" she started, but then seemed to choke on her words. Her lip quivered as she sat there mutely, trying to regain her composure.

Solona held up her hands, feeling a twinge of pity. "Hey, it's alright," she said, speaking softly. "You don't have to justify your reasoning to me."

"Right. Thank you." Elissa wiped at her eyes with the heel of her hand, not meeting Solona's eyes.

Part of her wanted to tell Elissa she was being dumb, that if she cared so much she ought to try a little harder to stay together. But, there was another part of her that thought perhaps she understood. "I get it, you know."

Elissa met her gaze with a frown. "You do?"

Solona nodded and looked away, thinking. "You know in the Circle, there are a lot of illicit relationships," she said, trying to choose her words carefully. "Technically we're not supposed to 'fraternize' in that way…but you put that many young people in close proximity all day every day…well, they are going to get together. The Templars couldn't hope to stop it." She frowned herself then, turning back to Elissa. "But as many relationships as we go through when we're young, when Circle mages get older, most of them just…stop."

Elissa was watching her closely. "Why is that?"

"I think you can understand the reason," she said with a wry smile, which fled her face an instant later. "It's just…people figure what's the point? Any romance between two mages is bound to end, and in some cases badly. It's more prudent to just avoid love and romance all together."

Elissa seemed to go very still. "What about you? Is that what you believe?"

She regarded Elissa for several moments. The young noblewoman's eyes seemed to have dried, anyway. Solona took a deep breath and then let it out. "You know what I think? I think it's shit. I think denying ourselves this part of life is just letting the Templars take one more thing away from us. I think…fuck  _that._ "

Wide green eyes stared back at her. Elissa's lips parted, but she stared for a few seconds before speaking. "I…I see. That is…an interesting point." She gave Solona a small, sad smile. "Thank you for sharing it with me."

Solona returned the smile and resisted shaking her head. She was pretty sure  _Thank you for sharing it with me_ meant  _That's nice but I'm not changing my mind._ Which? Fair enough. At least Elissa's eyes seemed drier now. That was something, she supposed. "Sure, no problem."

Elissa started to get up to leave, but then paused. "Can you…can you please keep this conversation to yourself?" Her face must have registered her confusion because Elissa rushed to explain. "I think it'll make it easier for Alistair to accept all this if he thinks…if he's…unaware of…the regard I still hold for him."

"The regard you still…? Oh, yeah." Solona hesitated, wondering if telling Alistair might not be something she  _should_ do.  _It would solve a few problems for me…_ she almost asked if keeping such a secret could be the 'favor' she did for Elissa, but something in her fellow Warden's face made her agree. "Of course," she said at last with a shrug. "'Sides, what am I gonna do? Have some heart-to-heart with Alistair?"

Elissa's lips crooked into a smile. "Right," she said, and then frowned. "That's apparently Leliana's job now."

 _Maker_ , she hoped not. But she kept quiet and wished Elissa good night as she exited her tent.

* * *

"So yeah, in spite of us going to Soldier's Peak and having about a billion cool stories to tell, all anyone cares about is Alistair and Elissa." Solona took another bite of strawberry and spoke around the food in her mouth. "Who cares about Solona becoming a Grey Warden when there's somone's sex life to gossip about!"

Aurelian had been sitting next to her on their little bench in the gazebo for awhile now, listening attentively as Solona told him all about recent events. It felt great to be able to get all of this off her chest, at least.

"So…now you  _do_ want to become a Warden?" Aurelian shook his head. "I can't keep your feelings on the subject straight."

Her face grew warm and she forcefully swallowed her mouthful of food. "Hey, it's not like it's an easy decision!" she said, feeling defensive. "But…I don't know. Now that I've had more time to think about it I have to wonder if it's my best option."

Aurelian raised his hands in surrender. "Of course, dear. I don't mean to pick at you. I am just so very worried…I don't like the idea of you going through the Joining if you don't have to. It's dangerous."

"Yeah, I get it." Solona tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, less tempted to share her idea about making the Joining less dangerous now that she'd heard Elissa's skepticism. "Anyway, I did find out something else."

Aurelian didn't fight the change of topic. "Oh?"

She nodded. "So, I always thought Alistair looked a little like our late, not-so-great king. Turns out there's a good reason for that." She smiled in anticipation— _some_  gossip was fun to share, especially when it was this hilarious. "Get this: he's Maric's bastard! Elissa's actually going to angle to put him on the throne."

The reaction her information caused in Aurelian was totally unexpected. He went very still, staring at her with suddenly wide eyes. "No…that can't be true."

"It is! I mean, I get your doubts believe me. But Elissa wouldn't screw something like this up. If she says he's Maric's bastard, than I'm sure he is."

Aurelian's eyes continued to grow impossibly wide, and then he looked off in the distance, the beginnings of a smile forming on his lips. He rubbed his mouth with his hand. "Oh, Solona, Solona, Solona." He turned back to her, and the smile on his face made something in Solona's chest twist. "This? This changes  _everything._ "

Solona's mouth went dry as she stared at her almost maniacally enthusiastic friend. She didn't know why, but she was filled with sudden dread for Alistair.

_Maker's balls, what have I gotten us into now?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to Riptide Monzarc and gingergen for reviewing this chapter and offering their comments and suggestions. Go check out their works!
> 
> With Inquisition dropping later this month, I'm not certain how many more chapters I'll get out before year's end. We may have something of a posting hiatus for the holidays, but never fear: I'll be back to P&W as soon as I can.
> 
> Thanks for everyone who dropped kudos and comments. I love hearing from you. Feel free to follow me on Tumblr as well: I'm "thinkdragonage" over there. (And feel free to drop me a PM or an Ask anytime! My askbox is always open).


	46. Gambit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darrian deals with the fallout of his actions.

_It's time to come clean,_  
 _And make sense of everything_  
 _It's time that we found out who we are_  
 _'Cause when I'm standing here in the dark_  
 _I see your face in every star  
_ — _Guns and Horses,_ Ellie Goulding

 

"You know it's your turn, right?"

"I know, I know." Darrian had been staring at his cards for the last few minutes. Some of their faces were nearly faded to white, but that wasn't the problem. W _hat did Soris pick up, two hands ago? Knight of… something._  It was useless. He had no head for cards. Giving a shrug, he lay down a seven of serpents.

"Ha!" Soris snatched it up. "I was looking for one of those."

Shaking his head, Darrian let out a dramatic sigh. "I don't know why I even bother playing with you. You always win."

"What can I say? It's a gift." Soris played a card and nodded at his sister. "Your turn, Shianni."

She stared at her cards. When she didn't make a play for several moments, Darrian's attention drifted to the threadbare blanket that served as a curtain separating the back bedroom from the rest of the house. Behind it, his father lay sleeping.  _But for how much longer?_  He tried not to strain to hear his father's labored breathing from the other room. He would be fine for a few more days. Soris and Shianni had insisted on the fact—Darrian hoped they were right.

"Shianni?"

The concern in Soris' voice brought his attention back to the game. It took him a moment to realize Shianni's glassy gaze wasn't focused on her cards, but at a spot on the table. "It's all my fault," she said quietly.

He shared a worried glance with Soris. "Shianni, don't start—"

Her gaze snapped to his. "But that's my point. I did start this. All of it! If I hadn't hit Vaughn with that bottle—"

"You don't know that. Vaughn might've done the same thing, only sooner—"

She shook her head. "It was worse because I provoked him. You know it's true—"

"No." Soris pounded on the table with his fist, making Shianni fall silent. "We talked about this. The blame lies with Vaughn and his men, not you. They are the ones who did this and they are all dead."

Darrian had never seen Soris look so defiant. It filled him with no small amount of pride to see evidence of his quiet strength.

Shianni, however, was less impressed. She looked as if she were about to argue, but then she seemed to think better of it, and shook her head. "You're right, I know," she said, rubbing her forehead. "I just can't help wondering…" She glanced up at Soris and caught his expression. "Never mind," she said, playing a card. Darrian couldn't tell if the smile she gave him was accepting or just resigned."The arl's party is only a couple of days away. It'll all be over soon."

Shianni's grudging peace of mind was an improvement, at least, over the despair and general sort of free-floating rage she usually exhibited. He knew the fact that her plan had seemed to work was a big factor in her current, more easy-going mood.

Zevran's little visit a few days ago had been a galvanizing event, at least for his cousins. As for himself, Darrian felt a growing sense of unease every time he thought about the Wardens walking into the arl's trap. He knew that there was nothing for it—he had to save his father—but it filled him with guilt and shame to double cross the people who had helped him.

Not wanting to squash the flickers of hope in their eyes with his own misgivings, he tried to mimic their optimism. He owed them that much.

The next few hands were uneventful, and as predicted Soris won the game. He was grinning ear to ear as he gathered up the cards. "A good effort, but once again I emerge victorious."

Darrian and Shianni shared a look. "He's so humble when he wins, isn't he?" He shot his cousin a wry smirk.

That drew a quiet chuckle from her. "It's the only thing he does well. Let him have this."

"Oh, har dee har har," Soris said, setting the deck of cards down at the table before pushing out his chair and standing up. "You're both just jealous."

The gentle teasing continued as Soris and Shianni gathered up their things. It was late and the two of them were heading back to their own house for the night. Darrian's wife was staying with a family friend for the evening—the woman was expected to give birth soon, so Nesiara was staying with her to help out. As much as it was a relief to have some time alone, as the door clicked softly closed behind his cousins, he couldn't help finding the sudden quiet just a little unnerving.

He tried to walk softly over the creaky floorboards to the back bedroom, though why he bothered he didn't know. When he got there he pulled aside the curtain and looked down at his father.

Most of Cyrion's body was covered in shadow, but a swath of light from the kitchen lanterns illuminated his pale, sunken face. A spiderweb of new lines criss-crossed his brow, and papery skin hung loosely from the old man's jowls. His father was wasting away.

Pulling the curtain aside further so that he could see his father's chest, Darrian held his breath as he watched the thin blanket shift ever-so-slightly with his father's labored breathing. A knot formed in his throat and he swallowed hard before letting the curtain fall back into place and turning away.

He strode up to the tall kitchen cabinet where all of his father's cutlery and dishes were stored. Any other member of his family would have needed to grab a stool to stand on, but Darrian was able to reach up and grab the dark green bottle he'd stashed off the top of it without even going up on his tiptoes.

It felt too light but when Darrian shook it, the liquor inside sloshed around.  _A few drinks left, anyway._  He settled back into his kitchen chair while he removed the top and took a tentative swallow. It stung all the way down, eliciting a wince.

_Not like Antivan brandy._  The memory made his stomach twist. It had been weeks ago—long before this whole business with the arl anyway. After a long day of hunting and slaughtering bandits in the city's docks district, Zevran had led him to a tavern tucked away on a side street—the outside looked like nothing much, but inside it was the fanciest establishment Darrian had ever stepped foot in. Turned out it was also a brothel, and while he had no intention of actually paying for sex, he quite enjoyed the views the location provided for free.

Zevran ordered  _dos brandies,_  and a few moments later the waitress returned carrying a couple of glasses filled with some dark red liquid. He tried to imitate the way Zevran held his glass—resting the wide bottom in his hand, rather than clutching the short stem of it, as Darrian would have thought.

He had made to throw back the glassful, but Zevran's arm snaked out and grabbed his wrist. " _A drink such as this should be savored, mi amigo."_  He'd taught Darrian just how to do that—how to use all of his senses to not just drink the brandy, but to fully explore it. He had marveled at the taste—he'd never had any liquor that didn't taste foul enough that the only way to consume it was to plug your nose and choke it down.

Staring into the mouth of the bottle in his hands, Darrian gave a long, drawn-out sigh.  _Why does it have to be this way?_  He had thought he and the Wardens were on the same side, but circumstances demanded…

It wouldn't do him any favors to dwell on it. A few swallows later and the bottle was empty. Exhaustion was tugging at all his limbs, but he knew his eyes would fly open the second he tried to sleep. Too many worries crowded his brain to drift off easily. There hadn't been nearly enough gutrot to help with that tonight.

After several minutes ticked by, Darrian got up and returned the bottle to its hiding place. He was just about to head for bed when he thought he heard a scuffling noise outside the front door.

Swallowing the hard lump in his throat, he crept toward the door, expecting to hear a thunderous knocking any moment—the arl's men wouldn't care how many elves they woke up with their racket, and they were bound to come by soon, wanting an update. He'd been dreading it for days.

But the noise didn't come. He stood there a few seconds, resting his hand on the doorknob, before opening the door first an inch, and then wider.

There was no one there.

_Stray cat, maybe._  Such animals didn't tend to stick around the alienage long, but it was as good as an explanation as he could come up with. He closed the door and turned around.

A woman stood directly in front of him. Before he could yell or even gasp in surprise, her hand darted out and covered his mouth with a cloth that smelled like a bottle of perfume. His eyes went wide—the woman looked familiar.  _That's right…from that one night._ Before he could voice any of his cluttered thoughts, a great weight seemed to fall on his shoulders and then the world went black.

* * *

_I can't move my arms._  Something heavy was pressing down on him—at least, that's what he thought as his mind struggled toward consciousness. It felt like floating up out of deep water, and when he finally breached the water line into consciousness, Darrian realized that his arms were in fact tied behind him. Flexing his biceps revealed that the knots were professional and tight.  _Why…_

It hit him all at once. The red-haired woman who drugged him was a companion of Elissa's. His heartbeat sped up but his head still felt clouded with grogginess-whatever she'd drugged him with hadn't worn off quite yet, so he kept his eyes firmly shut, trying to buy a little more time to think.

_For all the good it will do._ His jaw clenched. It was small comfort that a part of him knew this would happen. Hindsight mattered little now. Regardless of what he'd thought, he'd gone along with Shianni's plan. Part of him had feared that Elissa was too smart to double-cross so easily.

And now he'd pay the consequences. The image of his mother popped into his mind, but she said nothing—only glared at him from beyond the grave, frustrated at his continued failure to think for himself. A bitter taste filled his mouth. Whatever happened now, it was his fault—no one else's.

After waiting a little longer for his head to clear, he took a deep breath and opened his eyes.

He was still at home, he realized with a jolt. Whatever the red-haired woman wanted, she hadn't moved him much. His chair had been pulled to the center of the room. Another chair sat empty across from him. The room was dark—she'd extinguished all but one of the lanterns, placing it on the table to his left. It burned brightly, making him feel as if he existed in an island of light amid a sea of darkness.

He tried to stay calm as he peered into the darkness beyond the lantern's light. Whatever the woman wanted, he told himself, she'd kept him alive so far. So that was...something.

Someone moved into the light and he when looked up his breath caught. It was her. She stood before him clad in dark leathers and a darker cloak. "I see you've woken."

He couldn't quite bring himself to meet Elissa's gaze just yet, so he squinted as he tried to see into the darkness behind her. The red-haired woman had to still be there, he reasoned, and with an uncomfortable sinking feeling in his gut, it occurred to him that there was a very good chance Zevran was with them. Darrian's stomach flipped over at the thought. Facing Elissa and her nobles' game was one thing. Facing Zevran felt far more dangerous.

Gathering all his courage, he met her gaze. He wasn't sure what he'd expected—rage maybe, or knowing nobles, a smug sense of superiority about the whole thing. But when he caught Elissa's eye, he found sympathy in her expression, as well as regret. "I apologize for the measures we've been forced to take," she said, "but I was unsure what your reaction would be if we met again."

She was apologizing? His brow furrowed into a frown as he tried to think. Was she just like Howe, trading pleasantries before drawing a dagger across his throat? Or was it at all possible that she wanted something other than revenge from him?

Grasping at that flicker of hope, he jutted out his chin and aimed for self-righteous anger. "What in the Void is this about?"

Elissa turned her head to look at him out of the corners of her eyes, one eyebrow arched high. "I've a feeling you know perfectly well what this is about."

That her tone would sound so disappointed was a bit of a surprise, but Darrian tried to stick to his course. He wouldn't reveal anything on his own, at least. Perhaps it was a vain attempt at prolonging the inevitable, but it made him feel better to at least try. "I don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

"Really?" she said, wincing down at him for a few beats before rolling her eyes. "Alright, fine." She settled into the chair across from him, sitting with her hands in her lap. Her back was ramrod straight. "We know that Arl Howe poisoned your father. We know he has the only antidote. We know that he gave you that guest list to lure us into a trap. And we know Howe promised you the antidote in return." She paused a beat. "Is that about everything?"

" _Si."_

At that lone syllable from the darkness, Darrian felt his flimsy resolve flit away, like a cobweb in a strong wind. If he'd been able to, he would have slumped over in his chair. As it was, he could only hang his head in shame and say nothing, not trusting himself to speak.

There was a long pause before Elissa cleared her throat. "As I said, we know everything. However, the reason we're here tonight is that I have a hypothesis about you. Would you like to hear it?"

He glanced up and then wished he hadn't. Zevran had stepped forward from the shadows and was now standing next to Elissa's chair, his face devoid of any emotion.

Darrian trained his gaze on Elissa. "You got a hypo- what now?"

If he didn't know better he would have thought Elissa was fighting a smile. She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes for a few seconds, before opening them and speaking in a soft voice. "It means I have an opinion about you, one that I hope you'll provide me with evidence to support." She went very still for a few moments, quietly regarding him. At last, she tilted her head to the side ever-so-slightly. "I believe we need not be enemies—"

Just then the front door flew open and Shianni took a few steps into the room. "I forgot my—" She froze in her tracks when she saw everyone, eyes going wide and round. "Shit!" Her hand darted inside her cloak and she pulled out the smallest crossbow Darrian had ever seen. She pointed it at Elissa and shouted in a shaky voice. "I'm not afraid to use this, shem."

_Fuck. Shit. Shit shit shit_. Why did Darrian have the worst luck in Thedas? What cosmic deity had decided his life should be filled with these horrible coincidences? "Shianni, please  _don't_."

His gaze darted around. The other woman and Zevran had their hands on their weapons, but Elissa looked unconcerned. She stood up. "A miniature crossbow that you can disguise on your person? What a clever invention!"

She took a step forward, and Shianni bristled. "You'll get to see it up close and personal if you take another step," she snarled.

_Maker's balls._  Shianni was going to ruin everything.  _Again_ , some mean and small part of his mind insisted. "Where did you even get that?" he asked, his voice pitched high in surprise.

"Indeed!" Elissa said, keeping her eyes trained on the weapon. "It's truly a marvel—I've never seen one that small." She paused then, and narrowed her eyes. "Poison dart, I assume?" She must've taken Shianni's scowl for affirmation. "Right. Like I said, clever in a pinch. But I'm afraid it won't do you much good in your current situation. You'd only be able to shoot one of us before the other two managed to take you out." She said the words matter-of-factly, her brow creased in a frown that looked almost sad. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to relinquish your weapon."

Shianni's gaze flitted between Elissa and the other two. "Untie him first," she said, gesturing toward Darrian with her chin.

Elissa cocked her head to the side and stared at Shianni for a few seconds, before giving her head a small shake. "Unacceptable," she said.

What happened next was downright impossible. Shianni and Elissa were standing at least five feet apart, but in the literal blink of an eye, Elissa darted forward and grabbed the weapon right out of Shianni's hand.

At least, she must've, since she was now standing there with the crossbow in her hands, staring down at it with her lips quirked into a strange smile.  _How in the Void had she moved that fast?_

He spared a glance at Zevran and saw him share a puzzled look with the other woman. "Elissa, what was that?" she asked in a quiet voice.

Elissa looked up and seemed to notice everyone's shock only then. She straightened her spine and the smile fled her face. "There are many things about the Wardens you do not know," she said, reaching into the pack at her hip and retrieving a handkerchief. Her long, delicate fingers disarmed the crossbow in a few swift moments, before wrapping the poisoned dart in the cloth. Glancing up at Shianni, she placed the crossbow and the bolt in her pack. "You'll get this back when our business is concluded," she said, before moving behind Darrian. "I was just about to untie you anyway." He felt her pause with her fingers at his wrists. "You'll not do anything stupid if I untie you, will you?"

He turned his head as far he could to try to see her behind him. "No! I'm listening!" If he could just get Shianni to behave…

His cousin was staring at the two of them with her fists clenched. "Darrian, what the fuck…"

"Just listen, Shianni, alright?" He pleaded with her with his eyes, until she finally seemed to relax…a little. She crossed her arms over her chest and moved to stand by him as Elissa finished untying him.

When the ropes fell away his wrists ached with sudden feeling. He rubbed his left wrist with his right hand and winced.

Elissa returned to her chair and sat down. "Where was I?"

"You were saying that we need not be enemies," Darrian said, feeling a thrill of hope course through him. He tried to temper it with caution—Howe had said something pretty similar, and look what he'd done. Still, he had to listen.

"Right," she said, and then took a deep breath and held it for a few heartbeats before letting it out again. "As I was saying, Howe seeks to pit us against each other… but he's an enemy to us both, is he not?"

"Well…yeah." He couldn't keep his gaze from drifting to the back bedroom. When he looked at Elissa again, she offered a small smile.

"I know you only did what you did to save your father," she said quietly. "I daresay I might have done the same thing in your position."

His eyes went wide at her apparent candor. Her tone sounded so genuine—he wanted to believe her. But, he'd be stupid to take her word at face value. Shianni caught his eye and he could see from her expression that she was even more suspicious than him.

Frowning at Elissa, he shrugged, saying nothing.

Elissa leaned forward, lips curving into a wider smile. "So why not join forces against him? Why not do our best to waylay his plans?"

His heart hammered in his throat. The thought of getting back at that bastard Howe, was an incredibly tempting one. And if anyone could do it, he thought, it was this genius shem. "That's a nice idea," he said aloud. "But what about—"

"Your father?" she supplied, sitting on the very edge of her chair now. She seemed really excited. "I would not propose a plan that didn't also involve saving him."

He stole another glance at Shianni. She was still glaring at the shem suspiciously, but when he met her gaze, she gave her shoulders the slightest shrug. He turned back to Elissa, licking his lips. His mouth felt as arid as a dessert. "How?"

His interest seemed to light a fire in her eyes. She was positively beaming now. "If I can get my hands on the antidote, I can replicate it so that we both get what we want."

"But…how are you going to get the antidote? Howe will only give it to me once you're captured."

She sat back in her chair and her smile turned sly. "We'll be captured, indeed. And then once you have your reward, we'll escape."

His eyes went wide. "You say that like it's some easy thing. Just how are you going to do that?"

"With your help, of course."

He blinked at her for a few seconds. If she was for real… could this plan even work?

"How are you going to replicate the antidote?"

It was Shianni's question, but Elissa fixed her gaze on Darrian when she answered. "I've no small experience with both alchemy and poison. I can do this." It was her turn to shrug. "I would not offer it if I could not."

Darrian leaned forward, rubbing his hands together. "What exactly are you expecting me to do?"

"Very little, in fact. I simply need an hour or two with the antidote so I can formulate a copy. As for the details about our escape…those are best left vague for now." She turned her head and looked at him out of the corners of her eyes. "Does that mean you're agreeable to this plan?"

He pressed his lips together, frowning down at the floor. A part of him really wanted to believe Elissa, but he had to think everything through—how much trouble might he have avoided if he had done more thinking before now? The plan was certainly appealing, but he couldn't help feeling there had to be some kind of a catch. "Wait a second." His gaze snapped to Elissa's. Maybe it was a stupid question, but he felt compelled to ask it. "How do you know I won't just tell Howe what you're up to?"

Elissa narrowed her eyes and stared at him for a few seconds. "Because of that opinion of mine," she said at last. "I believe that you're an honorable man stuck in an impossible situation. I believe you want to believe me…because you want to do the right thing, if you can." Her eyebrows furrowed together and a hard glint appeared in her eyes. "Because you know I'm smart enough to get back at you if you tried to betray me again."

Shianni made a disgusted noise, but he avoided looking at her, trapped under Elissa's suddenly intense stare. He wanted to save his father, and hadn't he just wished things could be different? This might be his one chance to change things…

He believed her, he realized. In his gut he knew she was telling the truth. He turned to look at Shianni, a question in his eyes.

She glared back at him. "Are you really buying all this?" To her credit, she asked him the question under her breath.

"I…yeah, actually. I'm also thinking we don't have much of a choice. It's not like our original plan will work anymore."

Even Shianni couldn't deny that fact. Of course, she didn't have to like it. "It's your call," she conceded, however, after a long pause.

He licked his lips and turned back Elissa. She sat at the edge of her chair, watching him. He glanced at Zevran. The other elf still stood near Elissa's chair, watching them with hooded eyes. Unlike Elissa, his face showed no emotion.

It was probably too much to hope that he'd ever be able to regain the Crow's friendship, but at that moment, Darrian wanted to try. He made his decision.

"Howe's got a blood mage working for him," he said, looking at Elissa again. "He's got a way of escaping notice—some kind of magic. You'll want to watch out for him."

Elissa nodded. "So, we are in concord?" At Darrian's blank look she went on. "I mean, we have an agreement? You'll let us use the antidote and you'll help with our escape?"

Sparing one last look at the blanket in the back of the room, Darrian nodded. "You have my word." He hoped that still meant something after everything that had happened.

"Wonderful," Elissa rose to her feet with a twinkle in her eye. "Tomorrow you'll get a visit from a Chantry healer and a Templar." She smiled at his confusion. "Alistair and our spirit healer," she continued softly. "She'll try to stabilize—she'll try to make sure your father's condition does not worsen."

He stood up. "I should have talked to you right away," he said, his face folding into a grimace.

"That's true," Elissa nodded with a thoughtful frown. "Though I understand why you might not trust me, given your recent experience with Fereldan nobility."

He glanced at Shianni. She was staring at Elissa with a wary frown of her own, but for once she didn't look on the verge of exploding. "Right," he mumbled.

Elissa stepped forward and for a moment he thought she was going to touch him, but she pulled her hand back and folded it with her other one in front of her. "We'll do everything in our power to save your father. You have my word."

_Maker, so help me I hope I'm doing the right thing_. Extending his hand, he stared into Elissa's confident gaze. In all his life, he had never wanted to believe in anyone as much as he wanted to believe in Elissa Cousland at that moment. "I really hope so."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to add a note that I'm very thankful to all who have commented and/or given me kudos. Thanks so much! I am hopeful to update more often. 
> 
> Also big thanks to EasternViolet for betaing this chapter.


	47. Fine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elissa is just fine; thanks for asking.

…  _if you think you know what I'm doing wrong_  
 _you're gonna have to get in line_  
 _but for the purposes of this song_  
 _let's just say I'm doing fine  
_ _I guess I'm doing fine_

— _Glass House,_ Ani Difranco

Elissa lie on her side, listening to the voices that carried from the center of camp. It wasn't all that terribly late, so she couldn't in good faith chastise her companions for merely chatting around the campfire. It was early enough that she might just as well join them, rather than lie there battling insomnia, but… her rest was more important, and she was setting a better example by staying put.

Alistair's voice rose above the din, drowned out a moment later by a chorus of laughter. It was good that he seemed to be back to his old self, she thought. When she ended things, she'd been worried that he might lapse into a spell of moping like he'd done after the battle of Ostagar. She needed everyone operating at their peak if tomorrow night's plan was going to go off without a hitch.

But she needn't have worried, apparently, since once they'd returned to camp and Alistair was reunited with Leliana, he seemed to recover his sense of humor and generally cheery outlook almost instantly.

Swallowing the hard, dry lump in her throat, Elissa turned to her other side and scowled deeply at the darkness. Silently she willed the acute ache in her chest to just go away—it was an utterly useless emotion. She had made her decision. It was the only decision she could possibly make, so there was no reason in the world for her to keep feeling such sadness and regret.

" _So, all this time we've spent together… you know: the tragedy, the brushes with death, the constant battles with the whole Blight looming over us…will you miss it once it's gone?"_

Elissa let out a sigh and rolled onto her back, staring at the dark canvas above her. The problem was, she had nothing left to think about. There was literally nothing else she could do now to better prepare for tomorrow. She'd gone over her plan so many times in the last few days that she could probably recite it forwards and backwards. And there was no craft that she could throw herself into tonight, either. She'd spent so much time alone in her tent the last few days that a substantial portion of her inventory of potions, poisons and traps might have to be left behind—there was simply no room for it all. She'd gone overboard in her production.

And even if that weren't the case, all of her supplies were packed up. They were breaking camp in the morning, and sending Sandal and Bodahn on ahead of them to Redcliffe. It was a calculated risk, but she didn't want the dwarves to pay for it if by some slim chance things didn't go as she had planned. This way, they'd be safely out of range if her party had to quit the city in a hurry.

Hopefully, however, they would be able to leave the city undetected, and all of this preparation would become superfluous. Better to have too many plans (and back up plans) than too few. Zevran and Leliana had surprised her—they were both excellent critical thinkers, and had come up with several alternatives and contingency plans that hadn't been immediately obvious to her. She felt strongly that her plan had a good chance of succeeding.

And yet, sleep remained elusive.

" _I know it…might sound strange, considering we haven't known each other for very long, but I've come to… care for you. A great deal. I think maybe it's because we've gone through so much together. I don't know." He paused and she could hear the hard swallow he took before continuing. "Or maybe I'm imagining it. Maybe I'm fooling myself." She knew he was looking at her, waiting for her to reassure him, but she sat there frozen, unable to speak or return his gaze. She heard him take another deep breath. "Am I? Fooling myself? Or do you think you might ever…feel the same way about me?"_

_Her swirling emotions could be contained no longer. "I can't do this anymore," she said in a choking voice. Forcing herself to look at him, she tried to keep from breaking down, knowing that her eyes and voice would betray her anyway. She could see the exact moment his bewilderment turned into understanding—it was the moment she broke her own heart in half, too. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I think we need to end this."_

_He flinched—he actually flinched and then looked away, frowning, and she had to bite down on the inside of her mouth not to take them all back the second the words left her lips. But she could not take them back. His life depended on it. "I'm sorry," she said again, unable to manage anything else._

" _I see." He was staring at some point in the middle distance, his brows knit together into a thoughtful frown. "Can I ask why?"_

_An image of Alistair's broken body sprang to mind and the horror it evoked strengthened her resolve. Smoothing her expression as best she could, she managed to speak without a quavering voice. "I'm sorry. It's just not working out." The words sounded sharper aloud than they did in her head, probably because if she didn't spit them out, she wouldn't ever be able to say them. "This hasn't any hope of going anywhere."_

A loud chorus of laughter erupted from the central campfire and she sat up with a scowl, staring at the tent flaps in front of her. Without really contemplating what she was doing (and certainly not why) she crawled over to the wooden chest that sat at the foot of her bedroll. Kneeling before it, she opened it and pulled out a pile of clothes. Then she shuffled back over to her bedroll, where she arranged them to make it look like a figure her size was lying under the covers.

She stood, studying her work. Wynne's eyes would probably take long enough to adjust to the darkness of the tent that she wouldn't notice anything unusual anyway. Elissa would be back before she awoke in the morning, so the ruse was most likely unnecessary, but it was probably safer to be careful.

She dressed quickly in the dark, before slipping out of the tent and into the darkness of the woods without a sound.

* * *

_Soldier's Peak, six days ago_

Elissa watched Morrigan and Solona leave the main hall of Warden's Keep, wishing she could go with them. They were headed to Avernus' tower to learn the alchemy and magic required to make the Joining cup. She didn't doubt that she could learn the specifics from the women later, but she would have liked to be there to supervise Avernus. The last thing she needed was for him to tell anyone else about the archdemon… especially not before she'd even managed to tell Alistair, herself.

Alistair cleared his throat and she turned toward him as Morrigan and Solona's footsteps echoed away. He was still shirtless, his torso wrapped in fresh bandages around the wound at his side that the demon had given him during Avernus' ritual to seal the veil. "So, talking," he said, sounding as nervous as Elissa felt. "We should, uh…do that."

Elissa's eyebrows pulled together and it took a great amount of will not to burst into tears when she looked up at him. "Yes," she answered. "We should."

In spite of their spoken intention, neither of them said anything for a few heartbeats. They just stood there, staring at each other.

" _A darkspawn is an empty, soulless vessel," Avernus explained with a patience that felt almost mocking, "but a Grey Warden is not. The essence of the archdemon is destroyed… and so is the Grey Warden."_

Elissa cleared her throat. "Yes, um… the thing is… " She trailed off, unable to say the words that would end the one thing she'd found in this world that brought her any peace or joy. And that was the crux of it, wasn't it? Whatever she said, however Alistair reacted, everything would change once she opened her mouth and let the truth spill out. But it wasn't like she could keep this to herself. Could she?

Her eyes tracked down to his bandaged torso, and a thought occurred to her. "If it had been anyone else in front of that demon, would you have still leapt in front of it?"

Alistair seemed taken back by the question. "Of course I would have." Giving his head a shake, he stepped forward, closing the distance between. "I've told you before. It's my job to jump in front of the enemy. It's why I wear all that metal, remember?"

A sinking feeling settled into her stomach as she stared up at him, a terrible conclusion only now becoming painfully crystalline. Of course, he would. The truth made her wince.  _He's just like Rory…_

She could  _not_  tell him.

Her expression must've confused Alistair, for he gave her a wary sideways glance. "Is this about yesterday? You can tell me if, you know… if I… did I do something wrong?"

She stared up at him, utterly flummoxed by his demeanor and the change of topic. Yesterday felt like a lifetime ago. In a way, it was. "Yesterday?"

"Yeah, in the tent? You didn't…you didn't  _forget_ , did you?"

The unmistakable hurt and incredulity in his tone gave her heart a sharp ache. "No! No, of course not," she was quick to explain, memories of the prior day's foibles suddenly at the forefront of her mind. She'd frozen in the midst of their… encounter, for reasons that seemed impossible to talk about, now. "That was just… nerves," she lied, grateful for her quick thinking. "I've… I've never done anything like that either, you know." She reached out to brush her fingers against his bare chest, feeling a wave of guilt wash over her at her blatant manipulation. But she could always get Alistair to believe her when she touched him. "I guess I just got nervous."

Alistair relaxed, reaching out to wrap his arms around her waist and pull her close. "I have to admit…I wondered if it was something like that." He smiled down at her, his warm hazel eyes gazing adoringly. "And it's alright. We don't have to do anything you don't want to do. I'm happy to wait until you're ready."

A hollow feeling filled her chest. He would believe her because he wanted so very badly to, she realized. "Right," she said, averting her eyes to the hand she still touched him with. "I…yes, that would probably be for the best. Thank you… for understanding." Looking up at him through her lashes, she found herself overcome with a sudden impulse. She slid her hand up to his neck and then pulled him close, kissing him deeply while pressing herself against him. If Alistair noticed the inconsistency between her current behavior and the nerves she'd just confessed to, he kept it to himself, too occupied with holding her tightly against him and kissing her back to question it.

She didn't want to let go, feeling certain that once she did, it would be for good.

* * *

The air in the Pearl felt much warmer than the cool summer night Elissa had just escaped. As the door closed behind her, she felt enveloped by the warmth, light, and noise of the crowded brothel.

Elissa had never seen so many people packed into the tavern—but then again, she usually visited in the middle of the day. Now, every table was filled, and there were people standing or leaning against the bar. Perhaps they'd all come to see the woman who stood in one corner, plucking at the strings of her lute as she sang a lovely ballad.

Picking her way through the crowd took several minutes, but when she finally made it to the back corner, she was rewarded with a glimpse of blue bandanna over dark, silky hair. Elissa dodged a large man swaying on his feet to the music, and then stood before Isabela's table. "Captain Isabela," she said, smiling when the pirate met her gaze. "It is good to see you."

Isabela's eyes went wide and her mouth fell open into a large and happy smile. "Princess!" she gasped, clapping her hands together in delight. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

The other men sitting at the table stared at her. Elissa ignored them. "I was hoping to speak with you. Alone."

Isabela leaned back in her chair, giving her a very thorough once-over. "You heard the lady. Get lost."

The men complied, though a few of them muttered under their breath as they stood and shuffled their way from the table. Elissa had to awkwardly slide around one of them to take a seat across from Isabela.

"So," the pirate said, still leaning back in her chair. She shot Elissa a lazy smile. "Where's that gorgeous shadow of yours?"

Elissa's smile faltered, and she almost turned to look before she caught Isabela's smirk. "Oh, him. He's, um, back at camp."

Isabela's eyebrows shot up. "You came all the way here, all by your little lonesome? My my, haven't you turned into a big brave girl."

Elissa rolled her eyes. "It's hardly dangerous anymore. And besides, I'm quite capable of defending myself." She gave a little nod at Isabela. "In part, thanks to you, of course."

"That's true," Isabela said before catching the eye of someone behind Elissa and waving them over. A waitress appeared by their table a moment later. "You should buy me a drink to properly thank me."

"Of course." Elissa nodded at the waitress. "Two of whatever she's having."

The waitress disappeared back into the crowd and Elissa turned to see the pirate scrutinizing her. "So what brings you here all by yourself in the middle of the night, Princess?"

"A simple proposition, in fact." When Isabela opened her mouth, Elissa rushed to go on before she could make the obvious innuendo. "A business proposition. Tomorrow night…" She looked around, but it was doubtful anyone could hear them over the din of the crowd and the music. Still, she leaned forward and spoke quietly. "We're planning something in the city for tomorrow night, and I might need some backup." When Isabela didn't answer, she added. "We'd pay for your time, naturally."

Isabela held up two fingers. "Two things: One, we're shoving off tomorrow, so we're not available for backing up anyone, unfortunately. Two…" She hesitated, pursing her lips together and leaning forward. "Two: why are you lying to me, Elissa Cousland?"

Elissa sat back in surprise. "I'm not lying—"

"Yes, you are. Don't bullshit a bullshitter." She frowned and shook her head. "What's going on with you anyway?"

Eyes going wide, Elissa opened her mouth to protest, but then the waitress appeared and set two tumblers of whiskey in front of them before disappearing back into the crowd. With a sigh, Elissa picked up her drink. It was useless to lie to Isabela, apparently. "Alright, you win," she said, before taking a sip of the awful whiskey. It still burned unpleasantly all the way down, but she'd grown used to the taste over the last few weeks. "What's my tell?"

Isabela grinned. "Not telling. Where's the fun in that?"

"Right." Elissa ran her finger around the edge of her glass and then gave a shrug. "I guess I just needed a drink."

"You came all the way out here just for a drink?"

"Yes." She felt an odd and sudden compulsion to tell the truth for a change. "I mean, no. Not just a drink. The truth is… I don't really know why I'm here."

Isabela didn't say anything for a few moments, watching her through narrowed eyes. "Did something happen with Ser Handsome?"

"That's over. I… finally came to my senses." She gave Isabela a wan smile. "You were right—feelings are highly overrated."

"That they are; that they are," Isabela murmured, still watching Elissa carefully. "I'm afraid a drink isn't what you need."

"Oh?" Isabela was the last person she would ever expect to preach temperance. Elissa raised one eyebrow. "Is that so?"

Isabela leaned forward, her bosom pressing against the table and a sly smile at her lips. "What you need… is a  _lot_  of drinks."

Elissa rolled her eyes. "I told you, I have this… thing tomorrow. I can't go drinking myself to death tonight." Had a wistful note crept into her tone? It hadn't been intended. "I just… I don't know what I'm doing here. I should be in bed. Tomorrow… it's just… I don't understand how I can still feel so out of sorts even though I'm entirely certain that I've made the right decisions." Her desperation was making her babble. "I'm sorry. I don't know what I'm saying…" Elissa trailed off, something in Isabela's gaze making her wary. "What?"

Isabela let out an enormous and dramatic sigh, rolling her eyes. She picked up her whiskey glass and knocked back the drink in one swallow, only wincing a little at the burning taste. "Elissa," she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "This is my  _last_  night in Denerim. Do you know what that means?"

Elissa blinked rapidly, still feeling fragile after her rambling confession and confused by the change of topic."Um…"

"It  _means,_  my poor,  _sweet_  princess, that unless the answer to your problem is 'get sodding pissed drunk'…then I can't help you." She set her empty glass down on the table with an authoritative  _clunk._

Elissa stared, gape-mouthed at the pirate for a few heartbeats before she was able to collect herself. "I see," she said, peering into her glass again. The golden liquid was captivating—when she held her glass just right, the lamplight reflected through it to spread a tiny rainbow onto the table. "I should probably just go…"

"You should. Probably. But before you do, let me ask you one simple question." She waited until Elissa met her eye to continue. "What would you rather feel? Hungover…or the way you feel right now?"

Elissa held her breath, unable to do anything but stare, entranced as she was by Isabela's rust-gold eyes. At last she tore her gaze away and picked up her glass, holding it up between them. She met Isabela's gaze again. "I  _knew_  you were the right person to talk to," she said, before knocking back her drink in one long swallow, as Isabela's laughter rang through the tavern like a tolling bell.

* * *

_The North Road, five days ago_

Elissa sat cross-legged on a blanket spread out in front of Morrigan's campfire, picking off the dry, crumbling leaves of a stalk of elfroot and letting them flutter into a stone bowl. She was so lost in her thoughts, Morrigan had to repeat her name to get her attention. "I'm sorry, what?"

Morrigan sat on her own blanket, thumbing through the pages of her mother's book by the light of the fire. She gave an impatient huff. "I  _said,_  what is your reason for avoiding the clumsy Templar now?"

 _He's not clumsy with his fingers,_  she might've replied, if she were in a better mood. Instead, she frowned down at the root in her hand. "I'm not avoiding him."

Morrigan's eyes narrowed. "Do not lie to me, Elissa. You know he won't bother you over here. What, pray tell, has come between you two?"

They'd left the Peak a day ago, making good time on their journey back to Denerim, thanks to the cooperative weather and Morrigan's excellent scouting. Elissa had come to the conclusion that she couldn't tell Alistair what she'd learned from Avernus, but as for what to do about her burgeoning relationship… she was still at a loss. She couldn't tell him, but she couldn't go on like this, either. "Nothing," she said, glancing over at the witch. "Can't I just enjoy your company?"

The suspicious expression that crossed the witch's face at that made Elissa feel just the smallest bit sorry for her. But then, her expression smoothed and she turned back to her book. "Suit yourself," she said. "'Tis of no difference to me where you sit."

Elissa sighed as she picked the last leaf off the root and let it crumble into the bowl. Setting the root aside (it could still be boiled, for a weaker poultice), she picked up her mortar and pestle and started grinding the leaves into a fine powder. After a few moments of silent work, she looked over at Morrigan again. "How do you do it, Morrigan?"

"Do what, exactly?" Morrigan's gaze didn't leave the pages of her book.

"How do you stay so aloof? So… distant from everyone and everything?"

Morrigan looked up, her expression suspicious again. After a moment she shrugged a shoulder and turned back to her book. "'Tis not something one needs to work at, when one has been raised so far removed from other people."

"Do you ever miss your mother?

Morrigan's head snapped up even faster at that. After a few seconds of studying Elissa, she spoke haltingly. "I… no." The flickers of the campfire's flames seemed to draw her attention. "Miss is… not the right word. Would one miss this region's cold and cloudy climate should it be left behind? Or do new elements simply require time to adjust?" She went on before Elissa could answer. "Flemeth did not require banal conversation. We could quite comfortably go for days without speaking, feeling no need to fill the silence with chatter."

Elissa set aside her mortar and pestle and hugged her knees to her chest as she listened. "Nor did you feel the need to practice unnecessary touching, am I correct?"

Amber eyes met her green ones. "Indeed! Human society's fascination for touching has always puzzled me. Why all the touching for a simple greeting? What is the point of touching my hand? I find it an offensive intrusion."

The corner of Elissa's mouth curved upward. "I used to think something similar, once." Her smile turned sad as she explained. "My family adored physical affection—something I merely tolerated back when…well. It was quite a surprise to me to discover how much I missed it once it was gone."

They fell into silence, both of them staring into the flames. After several moments, Morrigan stirred. "May I ask a question?"

Elissa tilted her head to the side and studied Morrigan. It was uncharacteristic for the swamp witch to ask her for anything, let alone permission. "Of course."

"When you were a child, had you a golden hand mirror, encrusted with crystalline gemstones?"

 _What an odd question_. "I might have." She was puzzled by Morrigan's disappointed look. "I never cared much for such things, to be honest. That does sound like an item my mother or my sister-in-law might have owned. Why on earth would you wonder about that?"

Morrigan's lips wore a small, private smile. "The first time I traveled beyond the edge of the Wilds, I did so in animal form, remaining in the shadows and watching these strange townsfolk from afar. I happened upon a noblewoman by her carriage, adorned in sparkling garments the likes of which I had never seen. I was dazzled. This, to me, seemed what true wealth and beauty must be." She met Elissa's gaze. "I snuck up behind her and stole a hand mirror from the carriage."

"I'm not sure if that was more brave or foolish."

Morrigan frowned. "It was foolish. I had not yet come into my full power, and I had risked discovery for the sake of a pretty bauble. When Flemeth learned of my thievery, she took the mirror from me and smashed it on the ground."

Elissa imagined Morrigan as a little dark haired girl dressed in scraps of cloth and leather, and felt a pang of sorrow for the poor thing. "You must have been devastated."

"I was heartbroken. But Flemeth was right to break me of my fascination." Her amber gazed fixed on Elissa's. "Beauty and love are fleeting and have no meaning. Survival has meaning. Power has meaning. Without those lessons I would not be here today, as difficult as they might have been."

"They made you stronger," Elissa said quietly.

Morrigan smiled, seeming pleased. "They did, indeed. At times I find myself wondering what might have been, but such fantasies have no place amidst reality."

Elissa rested her chin on her knees. "I envy you, you know."

Morrigan's expression turned suspicious yet again, and Elissa wondered if the swamp witch thought she was mocking her. "Why is that?"

"Because you have such… such clarity. You don't worry about what is the right or the just thing to do. You simply determine if it contributes to your survival or your search for power and go from there." She sniffed and looked down at her feet. "I wish I had your cold heart."

"'Tis a clarity you could easily acquire for yourself, if you would only posit your own survival above all other goals."

 _Too late for that_. "I'm a Grey Warden. I can't really do that."

"If you believe that to be true, then you are correct."

Elissa didn't feel much like arguing, so she let matter lie. She knew what Morrigan meant, of course, but Morrigan didn't know all that Elissa knew. She simply could not prioritize her own survival the way the swamp witch had. Her duty precluded any such notion.

She moved to a cross-legged position and reached for the mortar and pestle again when a loud, cackling laugh drifted to her ears from the other campfire, where Solona and Alistair sat talking. They seemed quite at ease with each other in recent days, and now Solona was clutching her stomach and laughing while Alistair kept talking—though she could not hear the words, his wry, amused tone carried on the wind to where they were sitting. He looked over then, and caught her eye, shooting her a warm smile.

She returned it with a tight smile of her own, feeling like her chest was one giant, painful bruise. He didn't seem to notice, turning back to Solona, his grinning face lit up by the fire.

If she could prioritize one thing above all else, it came to her then, it would be  _Alistair's_  survival and happiness. Watching him now—smiling, laughing, at ease with himself and everyone else—it was difficult to contemplate bringing all that to an end. She thought about all of the things Alistair had grown up without. Like Morrigan, Alistair had never had a family and friends to share his life with. He'd never had warm hugs from a loving mother either, let alone a sense of belonging—at least, not until he found the Wardens. Duncan had given him the first true place he could call home _._

She'd grown up with all of those things. Sometimes she caught herself wishing that she hadn't—if she'd grown up like him, or even Morrigan, she'd have been far more prepared for the life she was living now. But she always checked herself when those thoughts occurred to her. Memories of the life she had before hurt more than anything else, but the thought of not having them at all was worse. It wasn't fair that someone like Alistair didn't grow up the same way. Maker knew, he deserved to.

She could try to give him that again, it occurred to her. The simple idea brought her up short—why hadn't she thought of it before? The terror of her fate lessened somewhat when she contemplated using the time she had left to arrange a happy future for him.

 _His dream in the Fade… he wants a family more than anything else._  Could she give him one? Perhaps she could re-prioritize her goals after all...

She didn't know how long she'd been sitting there, watching him over her shoulder with her pestle poised above the mortar in her hands, when Morrigan cleared her throat. "You're spilling it."

Elissa whirled around to look at her hands. "Oh! Look who is the clumsy one now," she said, setting down the bowl and attempting to pick out some of the leaves from where they'd fallen on to the blanket.

"Why are you smiling?"

Elissa looked up in surprise. "Was I?" She did feel lighter now that the beginnings of a plan started taking shape in her mind. "I didn't realize." She started gathering up her things, galvanized by where her thoughts had taken her. "Thank you, Morrigan," she said, as she rose, her supplies cradled in her arms.

"For what?"

"Your perspective is invaluable. I think that you are right, perhaps. I need to… rearrange my priorities." Elissa turned so that she could face the other campsite, staring over to where Alistair sat, chatting with Solona. "You've given me much to think about."

"You are most welcome," Morrigan said, her eyebrows rising slightly as she followed Elissa's gaze. A small smile formed on her lips. "'Twould be most advantageous to you, surely."

It wouldn't, but Elissa didn't bother correcting her. Instead, she bid her goodnight and walked over to the campfire. Her plan was to dismiss Solona for the night, and talk to Alistair alone. It still troubled her to think of hurting him, but she told herself again and again that it was better to hurt him now than devastate him later. And anyway, she couldn't put it off any longer. At least this way, he would have a few days to recover before they rejoined the others at their camp outside of Denerim.

And she would feel better about it too, surely, by then. She always felt better after making a big decision. Why should now be any exception?

* * *

Elissa jolted awake with a gasp, her heart pounding in her chest so hard that it ached. She'd been dreaming of the Archdemon, only this time the choking fear she felt made her forget that she had a way of escaping. The enormous dragon loomed over her, it's body a mass of impenetrable darkness, blocking out all light and threatening to devour her with its swift, all-consuming maw.  _Do you accept the Gift I offer?_  The voice speaking Uldred's words felt like a demonic snake in her mind—oily, slithery, and unfathomably evil. And yet she found herself saying  _Yes_  with a trembling voice, waiting in fear for the Void to consume her. Just when the blighted dragon was about to reach her, she awoke.

She lay there blinking in confusion at the unfamiliar surroundings. Glancing around revealed a hexagonal shaped room, with dark wooden paneling and no windows on the walls. The room was small—the double bed she lie in took up most of the floor. Furniture was crammed into every available corner, and every available surface was covered. The nightstand to her right hosted a pile of parchment weighed down by an enormous white conch shell.

Just as a soft snore alerted her that she was not alone, the room's gentle swaying and a glimpse of a long lock of dark, silky hair under a pile of covers made her come to one jolting conclusion:

Isabela.

She'd gone to the Pearl, she remembered, and then the rest of her memories came flooding back—after yesterday's planning session she couldn't sleep, so she'd snuck out and landed at the Pearl, drinking until…

_Isabela brushed her fingertips down the length of Elissa's jaw to leave them resting at her chin, before she lowered her face until their lips were the width of a finger apart. When she whispered, Elissa felt the heat of her breath on her lips. "Why don't you come back to my ship with me for the night?"_

_Elissa couldn't breathe—her entire body went taut as Isabela waited for her to answer. Whether it was an effect of the drink, or she was simply starved for touch, she couldn't say, but she wanted this—suddenly and keenly. She licked her lips, feeling herself toppling over an invisible edge. "Alright," she said in a breathy whisper._

Trying to quiet the cacophony of restless thoughts all clamoring for her attention and analysis, Elissa slipped from beneath the covers without a sound. It was only when her feet hit the floor that the gentle rocking of the boat threatened her digestive system. She was long used to being on ships and rarely got seasick, but as she tip-toed around the lurching room, she had to clench her teeth together to tolerate the rolling in her stomach.

Her smalls and pants lay in a crumpled heap near the foot of the bed, so she donned those as quickly and quietly as she could, almost losing her balance for one terrible second, before managing to pull up her pants. Her breast band and shirt were still missing—her eyes went wide when she finally spotted her white blouse dangling from the edge of a picture, hanging on the wall. Memories started to flood her consciousness as she grew more awake—her face felt like it was on fire as she snatched the shirt, remembering how she'd taken it off and thrown it…

 _Maker's breath!_  It was a uniquely uncomfortable experience, feeling a growing sense of mortification as each memory of her wanton behavior the night before bubbled to the surface. It felt like watching the actions of a different person entirely in the harsh light of morning. Last night she'd been swept up in a drunken revelry with Isabela, who had seemed to her like some kind of expert guide down the path of debauchery. It would have been easy to blame the drink, and part of her wanted to. She'd behaved like an absolute idiot, forsaking all common sense and logic for the sake of a few hours of drunken fun. But her decision to get 'sodding pissed drunk' had been a deliberate one, she remembered. As all of her decisions had been.

Scanning the room for her boots she caught sight of an interesting bauble, and she couldn't resist taking a closer look. A fist-sized globe rested on a tattered pink pillow on the top of a chest of drawers. The surface was perfectly smooth and it was heavier than she expected when she picked it up.

The black orb was dotted with silver dots and lines—meant to represent the night's sky, she realized. She turned it in her hand until she found the  _Eluvia*._ She traced a finger over the stars, outlining the woman sitting with her head in the clouds.  _Sacrifice_ , was the constellation's more common name. Frowning, she put the orb back and turned around with a sigh.

Isabela was sitting up, watching her under a head of messy hair. "Morning, doll," she said, stifling a yawn, and then stretching languidly before sliding her long legs over the side of the bed and standing up.

"Oh!" Elissa averted her eyes, unsure exactly of the protocol her current situation required. Isabela seemed perfectly at ease without a stitch of clothing, but it felt rude to stare. "I'm sorry if I woke you. I was just trying to find my boots and my pack so I could… um, leave."

Isabela walked by her, shooting her a wry smile over her shoulder before snatching a white cotton tunic off the back of a chair. She slipped it on over her head and then turned to face her, putting a hand on one hip. "Relax, Elissa. It's only awkward if you make it awkward."

"Right." She smoothed down her hair, still unsure where to look. "That's… really not any help at all, to be honest."

Isabela chuckled before sauntering two steps to stand in front of Elissa. "You uptight ones are so much fun when you finally decide to let loose," she said, reaching out to brush aside a fallen lock of hair from Elissa's face.

Some very specific memories from the night before involving Isabela's fingers had Elissa blushing furiously and looking away. "Oh, um. That's… interesting."

"Hey." Isabela's fingers moved to her chin and pressed ever so slightly, forcing Elissa to look at her. Her expression was surprisingly gentle. "Last night was a lot of fun—don't waste any time feeling bad about it."

Elissa lips parted, but she said nothing for a few breaths. Isabela was exactly right, it occurred to her. Why should she feel ashamed of herself anyway? "I don't feel bad about it," she said, holding her head up high. She nodded to herself. "You're right, of course you're right. I… have no reason to feel guilty. I'm a grown woman with no attachments." She looked Isabela in the eye and shot her a warm smile. "I always did think your views on sex were very sensible."

"Sensible, eh?" Isabela laughed. Without her bandanna and jewelry, Isabela looked different. Softer, and maybe a little younger. "I guess that's one way to look at it."

Elissa shrugged, still smiling but not quite sure what the joke was. "Anyway, thank you, Isabela. For everything," she said, feeling a rush of affection for the beautiful pirate. She had been a challenging mentor and… acquaintance, often seeming contrary just out of spite… but Elissa could not complain about her memories from last night, nor the way the knot in her chest had lessened for a time. That was worth something. "I don't imagine we'll meet again, but it has been a pleasure knowing you, Captain."

"Now, now, none of that," Isabela scolded, pointing a finger. "Let's not get all weepy and emotional here, alright? It's too early in the morning for that shit."

Elissa kept her smile to herself as she looked around the small cabin for her boots. At last she found them shoved under the foot of the bed. As she was pulling them on, Isabela picked up the black skyball and turned it over in her hands. "You know," she said, without looking over. "The solution to your little problem is staring you right in the face."

Her hands froze on her laces. "What little problem?"

Isabela glanced over tossing the globe from one hand to the other. "You know. The whole 'terrible-duty-grey-warden-shitty-sacrifice' deal."

It felt like Elissa's eyes were going to bulge right out of her head. "I…I told you all that?" Even as she spoke the words, she knew it was true—memories of stumbling outside of the Pearl, and down to the docks, arm and arm with Isabela…slurring about telling her secret. "Oh Maker, I'm such an idiot." She pulled on her boot and stood. "You have to promise me to keep that to yourself—that is not knowledge for anyone else."

Isabela looked at her like she'd grown a second head. "Who am I going to tell that would care?"

"I… fair enough." Elissa crossed her arms over her chest. "What do you mean the solution is staring me in the face?"

Isabela turned to face her fully. "I mean…" She paused and Elissa got the sense that she was choosing her words very carefully. "How can I put this? Oh yeah, make Ser Wonderful to do it."

 _Or maybe not._ Elissa's mouth fell open, and in spite of everything, she laughed. "That's your big idea?"

Isabela rolled her eyes, before reaching out and giving Elissa's shoulder a small shove. "I'm serious!" She frowned then, and shot a steady glare at Elissa. "You get the big oaf to fall in love with you and then you let him throw his life away. And he will. Happily." Her face scrunched up in disgust. "He seems the type."

Elissa rubbed her forehead with her hand. Her hangover wasn't nearly as bad as she had expected it to be (maybe the Warden metabolism did help in some respects) but the longer she stood in this windowless room, talking to Isabela, the louder the pounding going on behind her eyeballs got. "That's… that's pretty much the exact opposite of my plan, but thanks anyway."

"What's that supposed to me? You're going to what? Make him hate you and then go off and die?" A flicker of shock passed over her face, and then it fell with comprehension. "Oh my god. That's your plan? Elissa… _don't._ "

Elissa's face burned at the recrimination in Isabela's tone, but she forced her voice to sound casual. "It's not even worth thinking about, because it's far more likely we'll both die to some random Darkspawn long before the archdemon is defeated." As she spoke she scanned the room, desperate to find her pack so she could escape. At last she saw it hanging from the doorknob of the room's only exit. "Ah ha!"

Isabela shook her head. "Only you would find that comforting." She stepped forward as Elissa slipped the pack over her head, reaching out with one hand offering the black orb.

Elissa frowned and stared down at it. "What…"

"It's a skyball. It seems like something you'd like. Just take it." Isabela seemed to be looking anywhere but at her.

Elissa took the orb, smiling down at it and feeling a surge of gratitude. "Thanks Isabela." She pulled the other woman into a quick hug and then slipped the orb into her pack.

"Have a nice life, princess," Isabela called out, turning away when Elissa got to the door. Elissa hesitated for a second, her hand at the doorknob as she looked back at Isabela… but there was really nothing more to say, was there? With a shake of her head, she turned and opened the door.

Alistair and Solona stood in the doorway, mouths hanging open at the sight of her.

Elissa gave a loud gasp at the sight of them. "Maker's breath! What are you doing here?"

Alistair's gaze flitted to the room behind her and Elissa watched with sinking horror as comprehension dawned on his face.

"Yeah… we could ask you the same thing," Solona said, before glancing at Alistair, and then Elissa. "Or… maybe we can figure it out on our own."

Elissa licked her lips, wishing with all her heart that a gust of wind would simply blow her off the ship to drown in the ocean. "I…" What would she say, anyway? Alistair's glare grew more venomous as she floundered. "I'm sorry," she said, clenching her teeth together and swallowing the emotion that was threatening to choke her. "I didn't mean for you to find—"

Before she could even finish, Alistair turned on his heel and walked away without saying a single word.

* * *

 

*Dragon Age Inquisition Codex Entry

Constellation: Eluvia

Owing primarily to the popular Orlesian tale of the same name, the constellation Eluvia is commonly referred to as "Sacrifice." During the Glory Age, folklore told of a young woman saved from a lustful mage by being sent into the sky by her father - after which the mage killed him (hence the sacrifice). The daughter became the constellation, depicted as a seated woman with her head in the clouds. Prior to this tale, Eluvia was though to represent Razikale, the Tevinter Old God of mystery, and the constellation was the source of many superstitions involving the granting of wishes.

_-From A Study of Thedosian Astronomy by Sister Oran Petrarchius_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to EasternViolet for looking at a couple of iterations of this chapter and offering comments and suggestions.


	48. Web, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darrian tries to figure out what is scripted and what isn't as he tries to follow Elissa's complicated plan for fooling the arl.

" _Will you step into my parlor?" said the spider to the fly;_  
"' _Tis the prettiest little parlor that ever you did spy._  
_The way into my parlor is up a winding stair,_  
_And I have many pretty things to show when you are there."_  
_"O no, no," said the little fly, "to ask me is in vain,_  
_For who goes up your winding stair can ne'er come down again."  
_ — _The Spider and the Fly,_ Mary Howitt

 

Darrian tried not to fidget, even though his borrowed armor was pinching him uncomfortably in the shoulders, and his ears were shoved awkwardly under his helmet. When he found himself clenching his fists at his side he willed himself to relax.  _Trust me,_  Elissa had told him. She was far smarter than even his cousins, so what choice did he have but to obey?

Arl Howe linked his fingers together on top of his ornate desk, peering up at Darrian through narrowed eyes. "Explain."

Darrian licked his lips, tasting the salt from his sweat. "He ain't coming. Elissa says he's nearby in case they need backup, but that… uh… he didn't have the skills for the job."

Howe let out a noisy breath, steepling his fingers and bringing them up to his face while he studied Darrian with an openly suspicious glare. Finally, his gaze flicked to a corner of his office. "Ragnar?"

It felt like an acid ball was burning through Darrian's stomach as the blood mage emerged from the shadows. He had expected the man to be there, but still cringed at the sight of him, fear making his hands go slick with sweat.

The mage flicked his wrist and a small silver blade emerged from under his sleeve. He used it to prick his finger. A drop of blood appeared, hovering in the air in front of Ragnar for a few seconds before dispersing into a fine red mist.

The mist moved too fast for Darrian to dodge as it flew toward him, and then his vision clouded with red and he found himself only able to stare transfixed with wonder and obedience at the mage.

The human's face was hidden by the shadow of his cowl. "What would you ask him, my liege?" he asked, in a voice that sounded as soothing as a gentle summer rain.

"Ask him if he knows where this Warden is."

The mage's silky voice repeated the question.

"I don't know where he is. Elissa wouldn't tell me anything else. She says I only know what I need to know." It was a little disturbing how quickly and completely he answered—his mouth seemed to move and the words found him of their own accord. But, it was also completely true.

" _But… but the deal with Howe was that I deliver both of you for the vial!" Darrian hissed, feeling his throat close up as panic descended._

_Elissa put a hand on his shoulder. "Listen to me, Darrian. We know what we're doing. You know what you need to know. Don't ask questions. Just go in there and tell Howe that Alistair isn't coming. Trust me."_

_There was something calming about the certainty Elissa put into her commands—he found himself wanting to give into it. What else could he do? She'd already proved she was much smarter than him, and he had made the choice to put his trust in her because he believed it was the best solution. Sure, his mother's voice in his head wondered if he wasn't just once again letting someone do his thinking for him—but he figured perhaps he deserved some credit if that person happened to be a genius._

_And also there was the part where he had no choice. "Alright. Fine. I'll do it."_

_Elissa smiled and squeezed his shoulder, before her expression grew serious and she leaned in to speak in a quiet tone. "You have good instincts, Darrian. Trust them."_

_He nodded along nervously, praying to the Maker that Elissa really was as smart as she seemed and that she wasn't wrong to put her trust in him._

Darrian's eyes were glued on the mage's mouth, awaiting his next command, but he could see that Arl Howe had moved around the desk to come stand by the other shem. His eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. "Ask the knife ear if Elissa is really here."

Darrian nodded his head after the mage repeated the question. "She is! She told me she had her own way into the estate and not to worry about it."

The arl kept peering at him for what felt like an eternity, until he finally made a snort of disgust and waved a hand dismissively. "Release him; he obviously knows nothing."

The red tint cleared and at last Darrian found himself able to look away from the mage. His knees buckled at the sudden mental freedom, and he almost cried out in relief before catching himself. Panting and leaning over with his hands on his knees, Darrian tried to buy himself a few seconds to think. The blood mage had compelled him to tell the truth… and had learned absolutely nothing.  _Elissa intended this!_ He knew it was true even if he didn't fully understand how she'd done it.

"Well, this is truly a disappointment," Howe said with a sneer. "Our deal plainly stated that you were to bring both Wardens here tonight—not just one."

Darrian's eyes went wide as he glanced from the arl to the mage.  _Dammit, think! Elissa did this on purpose. What does she want me to do? She had to have known that the arl wouldn't accept no for an answer… and she said he was nearby…_ His heart leapt to his throat as the answer came to him. "I'll bring him here."

Howe turned his head so he could look at Darrian out of the corners of his eyes. "Oh? How will you do that? You don't even know where he is."

"I'll find him, I swear! And I'll… I'll tell him you captured Elissa! And… and if that doesn't work, I'll… I'll drag him here somehow!"

Howe's left eyebrow rose and he looked Darrian up and down. "Oh?"

"I can take him," Darrian said, putting a little heat in his tone. "Trust me. I'll… I'll do whatever I have to do to get him here." Whether that was what Elissa wanted or not, Darrian realized in that moment that he was again speaking the absolute truth.

Howe and Ragnar shared a look, and then Howe turned back to Darrian with a disapproving but resigned frown. "Alright, elf, you've bought yourself a second—and final—chance." He nodded at the door to his office. "Now go on and get to it."

* * *

Darrian's head buzzed like a storm cloud as he left the Arl's office. Since he was dressed as one of the arl's guards and his helmet hid his ears, his tall stature allowed him to easily pass for human, so the maids and other household staff did not pay him any mind as he rushed out of the estate.

He'd only just cleared the giant hedge that surrounded the mansion when he found himself suddenly dragged from behind. A hand closed over his mouth so his startled cry was muffled as he was pulled through a small opening in the bushes. Just as he cleared the branches, Elissa came into view and he stopped struggling.

"You!"

Elissa—dressed in black from head to toe—scowled at him and put a finger to her lips. The figure that had pulled him in moved in front of him and Darrian realized it was Alistair, dressed in what looked like a Templar's uniform. They were standing in an odd little alcove of the arl's estate garden. It looked like someone had deliberately carved a small room out of the maze of shrubbery that spread across the grounds. Perhaps they had—Darrian had a more pressing question, however.

"You planned that, didn't you?" he said, trying to keep his voice to a whisper.

Elissa's eyes seemed to brighten but her expression remained intensely serious and she looked past him at something behind him. He could hear the shrubbery being disturbed, and then two more figures emerged from the hedge to stand in the—now crowded—little 'room'. It was Elissa's red-haired human friend and Zevran—both also dressed in black.

Elissa's finely arched eyebrows rose. "Well?"

The woman— _Leliana, that was her name_ —nodded. "He was followed but Zev and I managed to distract the guards."

Darrian's eyebrows shot upward. "I was?"

"Indeed," Zevran said as his gaze ghosted over to Darrian. There was something flat in his expression when he met the other elf's gaze. "They are now confusedly chasing another 'guard' all the way down to the docks," he said with a smirk that seemed anything but amused.

"Excellent," Elissa said, smiling widely and nodding. She turned to Darrian. "Tell me exactly what happened—don't leave anything out."

He blinked, trying to gather his thoughts as he stood in front of these intimidating four figures. With a dry mouth, he told them everything—how Howe had questioned him and how the blood mage put him under his spell. At the end, he looked down at Elissa with a puzzled grin. "I… guess I figured it out, what you were doing. Making the blood mage read my mind and find the truth…"

"So he would trust you, yes, that's exactly right." Elissa was beaming as she looked up at Darrian. "It was a calculated risk, but the reward justifies it. Now, hopefully, the arl won't see reason to use blood magic on you again."

Her smile was contagious and Darrian found himself grinning back, shaking his head in genuine awe. "Damn, that's clever. I don't think even Shianni could have thought of that." A thought struck him and his brow drew together. "But… how did you know that the blood mage wouldn't ask me something else? Something that would give us away?"

Elissa was still smiling as she shrugged a shoulder. "I didn't—I merely guessed that he would focus on the fact that Alistair wasn't with you. Of course, it all could have gone differently, but we had contingencies in place for that. Now, the next step—"

"What contin… what would you have done if he had asked me the wrong question?"

Her smile faltered, but then she smoothed a hand over her hair and then made a  _tsk_ noise. "I think it's more efficient and productive for us to focus on what comes next, rather than dwelling on the past, don't you think?" Not giving him a chance to answer, she turned away from him to face Alistair. "Now, the next thing we have to do is deliver you."

Darrian didn't give it a second thought—he was ready to do whatever she commanded. He'd never felt better about his decision to put his (and more importantly, his father's) life in Elissa's hands.

She retrieved a rope from the pack at her hip and stood in front of Alistair. Without looking at her, the Warden thrust his hands out for her to tie together. When she finished, she looked up and said his name quietly. He didn't respond, however, staring intently at a space just over Elissa's head.

Elissa's smile evaporated when Alistair didn't answer, but she cleared her throat and spoke in a quiet voice. "These ropes are meant to look tied, but if you pull this end…" One of the ends of the rope appeared between her two fingers. She paused, seeming to wait for a response. When Alistair finally looked down at the rope in her hands and nodded curtly, she went on. "You'll be able to easily escape. Try it once so you can see how it feels."

Alistair's hands twisted in the ropes—it was hard for him to grab on to the end piece with his much larger hands—but in less than a half a minute, his hands were free.

Elissa nodded, picking up the rope from where it had fallen on the ground. "Good."

She reached out with the rope in her hands—obviously intending to tie him up again—when Alistair shook his head and spoke the first words Darrian had heard from him. "We should make this look real." He turned to Darrian and gestured with his chin. "You should hit me."

His mouth fell open, and he glanced over at Elissa. She too was looking at Alistair with surprise, but then she met Darrian's gaze and seemed to shake herself. Snapping her mouth closed, she nodded, and then looked away, frowning deeply at the dark green bushes beside her.

If Elissa thought it was wise, he wouldn't argue. He pulled off the thick leather glove on his right hand. "Alright."

Alistair moved to stand in front of him, his legs in a wide stance and his hands at his sides. He closed his eyes and lifted up his chin. "Alright. I'm ready."

A drop of sweat glided between his shoulder blades as Darrian prepared to punch Alistair in the face. His heart was beating rapidly in his chest and he felt a little sick to his stomach, but he tried to tell himself that it wasn't like he was trying to hurt the guy for no reason. And besides—Alistair was big even for a shem. Darrian was sure he could take a punch.

Taking one last breath to steady himself, he pulled his arm all the way back and then swung a wide, hard punch right at Alistair's jaw.

The second he connected, he realized his mistake. Maybe it was because he saw the Wardens as larger than life heroes rather than real people, or maybe his nerves just made him a bad judge, but Darrian put  _way_  too much power into that blow. Pain exploded across his knuckles when his fist connected with Alistair's jaw, and his head jerked back at the impact… and then his knees buckled and he collapsed on the ground in a heap.

Elissa gave a strangled cry while everyone else gasped. She dropped to the ground by Alistair, her face wrinkled in worry as she rolled him on to his back and set his head in her lap. Resting two fingers on his neck for a few heartbeats, she whispered frantically, "Alistair? Alistair!"

"Fuck! I'm sorry!" Darrian cried, earning some withering glares from Leliana and Zevran. His face flushed with heat. "I'm sorry," he said again in a whisper, shooting them both pleading looks as he rubbed his hand. He didn't think he'd broken anything, but his hand was going to ache for awhile. "I didn't mean to hit him so hard, I swear."

Leliana ignored him, keeping her gaze cast on Alistair, but Zevran looked at him with a thoughtful frown. After a few seconds of scrutiny, his lips twitched. "It appears you are stronger than you realize."

Darrian gulped down the lump in his throat. It was a stupid thing, maybe, but Zevran had barely spoken to him since that night at his house. He still had no real idea of where he stood with the ex-Crow, but his guess was nowhere good. "Well, yeah. Always have been," he admitted with a sheepish shrug.

The corner of Zevran's mouth threatened to curve upward, but then his attention was drawn back to Elissa when she said Alistair's game again, more loudly this time. He whirled around to look at her, feeling overcome with guilt at the abject fear and misery etched on Elissa's pale face. She looked up at him with brows drawn together and opened her mouth to say something, but then Alistair's head moved back and forth. A moment later his eyes opened, and he blinked as he looked around.

"Wha…?"

Elissa's hands were still resting at the sides of his head. She took a deep breath. "You asked Darrian to hit you, and when he did he knocked you out. Do you remember any of that?"

Alistair gave a confused frown—it seemed to take him a moment to grasp what had happened. When his eyes finally focused and he realized his head was resting in Elissa's lap, his face flushed red and he sat up abruptly, his back to Elissa. "Right," he said, rubbing his jaw and scowling.

Elissa reached out with a hand toward him, but then caught herself and snatched it back, her eyes gone glassy and her lips curved downward into a deep frown.

 _Yikes._ It was a little unsettling to see the normally reserved Elissa so utterly devastated and in such obvious emotional pain. Nor was it particularly comforting to see the affable Alistair so humorless and angry. Something must've happened between them—Darrian had experienced his fair share of breakups by now to recognize the symptoms.

As Alistair started to rise, Leliana rushed forward and grasped one of his elbows. When he got to his feet, he shook her off gently. "I'm alright."

He turned to face Elissa. In a much firmer tone, he said, "I'm fine."

Elissa had by now recovered—her lips were drawn into a thin line and she stood there with her chin held high.

"Good," she said, stooping to pick up the rope and moving toward Alistair, keeping her gaze carefully away from his. When she was finished tying his hands together again, she turned toward Darrian. "Ready?"

He ran a hand over his face, trying to steady himself and focus on the next part of the plan. Resisting the urge to answer  _I think so_ , he nodded in response instead.

Her brows knit together as she took the few steps required to bring her right in front of him. "One more thing," she whispered, and then licked her lips, her gaze drawn off to the side. She hesitated, and Darrian got the impression she was picking her words very carefully. "A warning, actually," she said at last, looking at him again with a steady gaze. "During the course of the evening you may feel… something strange."

He frowned and glanced over at Zevran, but the other elf's face was a serene mask. Turning back to Elissa, he lifted an eyebrow in inquiry. "What kind of sensation?

She winced and it was clear she didn't want to say too much. "Something like… you may feel something brush against your skin. Or even… it may feel as if you're being scratched by a tiny claw." She lowered her chin and leveled an emphatic glare at him. " _Don't_ react to it… especially if you're in the presence of the arl."

 _She's not serious?_ He looked at each of the others in turn. "I'm… that's not just me, right? I mean, that sounds totally crazy to you, too, doesn't it?"

Alistair rolled his eyes and looked away, but Zevran and Leliana shared a look, and then Leliana hid a grin behind her hand while Zevran looked openly amused.

"I don't care how it sounds!" Elissa hissed, and his attention snapped back to hers. "If I could tell you more, I would, but I can't and I… I need you to trust me and listen to me about this."

Darrian raised his hands in surrender. "Alright," he said, letting out a noisy breath. "I… will try my best."

That seemed enough for Elissa.

"Excellent," she said crisply, giving her head a sharp nod. She gave him a serious look. "This time it is going to be a bit different… more difficult. You're going to have to lie."

 _Oh boy_. Not trusting himself to speak, he nodded again.

Placing a hand on his arm, she met his gaze with a comforting and steady one of her own. "Look, just focus on the facts. You're there to deliver Alistair to Howe—and that's it." She leaned forward and lowered her voice. "The trick to lying is that you just have to  _believe_  what you're saying… if you do that, lying is easy."

Alistair made some inarticulate noise and Elissa looked over at him, about to retort, before she seemd to stop herself. She closed her eyes for a moment before opening them and looking back up at Darrian with a calm and knowing expression. "You can do this. I'm certain of it."

Swallowing his own fear, Darrian nodded for a third time and tried to tell himself that if Elissa said it, it must be true.

Elissa made them exit the little alcove from a different corner—one that led out onto a side street behind the estate. When Zevran and Leliana said the coast was clear, he led Alistair out, one hand grasped firmly around the big shem's bicep.

They walked in silence for a few moments. Alistair appeared to be a mollified prisoner—he offered no resistance, shuffling along as he stared at his feet. A bruise was starting to form inside the angry red mark on the side of his face. Darrian had hit him hard enough that there was a small trickle of blood running down the side of his cheek. No one had offered to heal him or clean him up—that was all part of the ruse, of course.

 _No, not the ruse._ He frowned to himself as he walked in silence.  _I am giving Alistair to the arl. He's my prisoner and you don't heal prisoners._ Still, it was difficult not to feel guilty. For all of Darrian's strength and combat prowess, he got into few actual fist fights. Most elves were too intimidated by his size to start something with him, and the humans he'd had altercations with had been strangers who hadn't survived the encounter. He'd certainly never hauled off and hit someone he actually knew and considered a sort-of, maybe friend.

"Sorry about that punch," he whispered as they turned onto the arl's street. "I really didn't mean for it to be that hard."

Alistair glanced at him in surprise, and Darrian got the feeling he'd interrupted the Warden's thoughts. "Don't worry about it."

That didn't really do anything to assuage his guilt, but he tried not to stew on it. Seemed like Alistair had enough on his mind without Darrian adding to the pile. "So, bad breakup, eh?" At Alistair's surprised expression he shrugged. "I've seen my share of 'em."

Alistair's frown deepened and he looked away. "Yeah."

"Well," Darrian said, unsure why he was still talking. "Don't worry, I'm sure she'll get over it soon."

At that, Alistair stopped to stare at him. "What do you mean?"

Darrian looked around nervously. There were lots of people rushing around the street, but no one seemed to pay them any mind. He licked his lips. "Uh… sorry, I guess I read it wrong. Anyway, we should probably focus on getting inside." He pulled on Alistair to get him walking again.

They made it a few paces before Alistair stopped again. "But why did you say  _she'll get over it soon_? Why do you think she's the one to get over anything?"

Darrian sighed, wishing with everything inside him that he'd never brought up the damn subject. What was he thinking anyway? "Uh… you know. She's got that whole heartbroken, lovelorn look they sometimes get when you… well,  _you know_." He tried to pull on Alistair to get him walking again but this time the big shem was rooted in place, staring at Darrian with a look that seemed to border between anger and confusion.  _Great_. Why did he even bring all this up? The Wardens' love lives were none of his business. "Look, I shouldn't have brought it up… and anyway, I need to concentrate on what we're doing here, so could we just move on?"

The stare Alistair leveled at him was pretty intimidating, but Darrian stood his ground, knowing that for once he was absolutely right. This was not a good time for this kind of conversation.

At last, Alistair's shoulders relaxed and it appeared he had conceded. He started walking again. "Right… just… you're mistaken. She's neither heartbroken or lovelorn, trust me."

Darrian said nothing as they walked up to the large, iron gate that led to Howe's mansion. He was fairly sure he  _wasn't_  mistaken about Elissa, but had no desire to contradict the morose, but large and still bleeding Warden beside him.

* * *

Arl Howe's sharp eyes narrowed as he scrutinized the Warden's features. "So this is the stable boy Lady Cousland intends to present as Maric's bastard?"

Darrian's mouth fell open. "What?"

The arl glanced at him, an oily smile spreading across his face. They were back in the study, surrounded by a half dozen of the arl's largest and meanest looking guardsmen. Darrian and Alistair had been stopped almost immediately when they entered the estate—a few angry guards wanted to know just where they hell he'd run off to, but Darrian had managed to change the subject by snapping that they were wasting the arl's precious time and besides, he had a very important prisoner to deliver.

It had worked, and he'd been priding himself on his quick thinking just a second before, but now he could do nothing but gape. Alistair wasn't just any shem... he was the bastard son of King Maric!  _Shianni was right!_ She had said he seemed familiar, and Darrian had dismissed it for traumatized paranoia. But she'd been right, of course. Alistair's profile was a fairly exact match to the one stamped on all of their coins.

The arl seemed to come to the same conclusion. He stood only inches away from Alistair, peering up at the much larger man. He should have looked elegant and handsome in such finery—he was clad in a velvet waistcoat of deep, dark maroon coupled with a shirt that had golden silk sleeves—but he still looked like a toad to Darrian.

"Hmm… I do see a resemblance. Who knows? Maybe she could have actually convinced a few people you were really his son. Maybe you really are his son?" Howe's smile turned into a sneer. "Imagine that. The only living Cousland and the only living Theirin both under my thumb at last."

Alistair had two guards on either side of him, holding his arms so he didn't try anything with the arl mere inches away from him. He didn't bother, however. The veins on his neck were bulging out and he glared down at the arl with an expression of pure and unbridled hatred, but he didn't say anything.

It only made the arl smile wider. "Yes," he said, taking a step backward and looking around. For the first time since Darrian had brought Alistair to him, an expression other than smug triumph flitted across his features. He looked distracted. "Where has Ragnar run off to?" he muttered to himself, before shaking his head and waving a hand. "No matter." He addressed the guards. "Now, let's go provide our guests with a little entertainment, shall we?"

Darrian followed as the arl and guardsmen filed out of the study. He walked at the back of the small entourage headed for the dining room, trying not to show the extent of his nervousness. Not knowing what Elissa was planning was part of it, but he understood now why she had demanded so much secrecy. Darrian couldn't give away what he didn't know, and frankly he was thankful for her prudence, considering what an awful liar he usually turned out to be. Fortunately, the arl had been so excited about Alistair's presence he had barely paid attention to Darrian's babbling about how he'd picked him up.

They turned a corner and passed through a set of large wooden doors and into the dining room. Darrian estimated that some two dozen of Ferelden's nobility sat at a couple of long tables running parallel with each other. Another table ran along the back wall—probably where the arl and his family sat, Darrian thought as he spotted an empty chair in the middle.

The guests were dressed in clothes as fine as the arl, and it made the hair on the back of Darrian's neck to have so many rich and important people looking his way. He tried his old trick of slouching his shoulders to avoid attention, coming to a stop when the other men did in front of the head table.

The arl started speaking in a loud, clear voice. "Ladies and Gentlemen of Ferelden's first families, esteemed colleagues and friends from afar, my most honored guests, I bid you welcome." He spread his arms wide and smiled.

Servants of the estate dressed in black and white finery paused in the middle of bringing out heaping plates of food to stare at the front of the room. The nobles seemed torn between looking at Howe and the guards holding Alistair, but a few of them started clapping and that lead to a tittering round of applause.

Howe nodded and rubbed his hands together. "Now! For tonight's entertainment, I have some wonderful news to share with you all." He gestured with his left hand for the guards holding Alistair to step forward.

The two guards dragged him over to the arl. He didn't resist, but rather glared around warily.

Darrian's heart was in his throat when the arl turned and looked right at him, gesturing with his hand for him to join them as well. Eyes going wide, Darrian pointed a finger at his chest and mouthed  _me?_

The arl nodded. "Yes, you of course. Get up here."

Clenching his fists at his sides so his hands wouldn't shake, Darrian made his way over to the arl and Alistair. When he got there, the arl turned back to the audience again.

"My dear guests, it is my great pleasure to announce to you today that with this young gentleman's help…" He turned and nodded at Darrian. "I've managed to finally capture one of those devious scoundrels responsible for our dearly beloved king's early and unjust demise."

A collective round of gasps ensued, and Howe paused a moment to let the surprise pass. When the audience quieted, he turned and waved an arm at Alistair. "This man in front of you is one of the Grey Wardens we have been so desperately seeking. The ones responsible for not only the death of King Cailan, but also many more good and honorable men and women of Ferelden!"

At that, the audience grew restless again, murmuring to each other in astonishment and anger. "About time!" Darrian heard someone mutter.

"This man's crimes are many. Besides treason, he is also guilty of sowing unrest in both Redcliffe and the Circle Tower. And perhaps worst of all, here in our own fair capital city, he and the Wardens conspired with blood mages to sell Ferelden elves to Tevinter as slaves!"

 _What?_  Darrian's eyes were round and wide and his mouth was gaping open, but he couldn't help himself. Of all the arl's false accusations, that one was the most preposterous. The crowd ate it up, however. A great murmuring swept through the hall, with lots of people talking at once.

Howe seemed delighted at the reaction, and was content to let it go for a few moments. At last he held up a hand and the crowd quieted. "The Wardens would have you believe that this common born  _stable boy_  is somehow the last by-blow of our much loved King Maric. They would depose our beloved Queen Anora and put this feckless  _traitor_  on the throne in her place!"

This time Darrian thought the audience didn't give the arl quite the reaction he was looking for. Sure, at least half of them were gasping and acting scandalized, but there was also a good portion that sat quietly, scrutinizing Alistair. He heard someone say in a stage whisper, "He does rather resemble King Cailan, doesn't he?"

The arl must've sensed his control on their attention slipping, because he turned abruptly to one of his guards. "Give me your dagger," he commanded. The soldier obeyed, and then Howe moved behind Alistair and gave a nod to the guards holding him.

At once the guards kicked at Alistair's feet, forcing them out from under him. He landed on the stone floor on his knees, and the clang of metal when his armor hit the stone reverberated through the hall, quieting the guests.

Seeming pleased that he had regained their attention, Howe smiled as he stepped up behind Alistair and grabbed his head by the hair, yanking it backwards with one hand and holding the sharp edge of the dagger to his neck with the other. "But he is not the only betrayer in our midst!" The murmuring ceased, and Howe's eyes seemed to shine in triumph. When he spoke again, his voice thundered through the hall. "There is another traitor here this evening. Someone who has also conspired against our Queen and country. The last survivor in a family filled with traitors.  _Elissa Cousland_ , show yourself!"

It was so quiet in the hall that Darrian's breathing seemed suddenly loud. Everyone waited, holding their breath.

When nothing happened, Howe pressed the tip of the dagger against Alistair's neck until he drew a small trickle of blood. "Warden Cousland, if you do not show yourself by the count of three, I will slit this man's throat!"

Darrian's heart pounded so hard in his chest that it hurt. He knew that Elissa must be nearby, but as his eyes scanned the room he couldn't figure out where she could possibly be hiding. The drapery hung from the walls in a straight line—he couldn't see how a figure could hide behind it without causing a noticeable lump…

"One!"

The audience stirred, joining him in glancing around—everyone seemed to be searching for the mysterious woman Howe called out to. She had to be close, but where? From his vantage point he could see under the tables and there was no one hiding there.  _What if she hasn't made it here yet?_  But that was impossible. She'd had plenty of time…

"Two!" The blood ran down Alistair's neck and pooled at his collar.

Darrian's stomach muscles clenched together. For one awful moment, he wondered if perhaps Elissa had chickened out. But she wouldn't leave Alistair to die, would she?

"Three!"

"Wait!" As soon as Howe spoke the last number, a servant stepped forward. The woman reached up and pulled off the brown, chin length wig she was wearing to reveal a blond head underneath—her hair had been braided and coiled around her head like a crown. Of course, it was Elissa. She held her hands up. "I am here."

The guards rushed forward to grab her and she didn't resist as they dragged her over to where Alistair was kneeling. At a nod from Howe, they kicked her feet out from under her too, so that she was forced on her knees as well.

Once she was down, Howe released Alistair and handed the dagger to one of the guards. He moved in front of the two Wardens, gesturing like a magician during a show at the two figures kneeling on the floor. "And here we have the criminal mastermind and traitor to the throne, Elissa Cousland."

The audience needed no prompting to applaud this time, and as they did they murmured together, clearly delighted to witness the monumental capture of such notorious criminals. The theatrics made Darrian's head hurt.

Howe stood there beaming for a few moments. Then, he turned to the guards. "Now… kill them."

Two of the guards not holding the prisoners stepped forward, hands going to the swords at their sides, eliciting loud gasps from the nobles.

"Not here," Howe snapped angrily. "Take them to the cell in the dungeon." He turned and smiled at his guests. "I love a good execution like anyone else, but not before dinner," he said with a wink, drawing a polite round of laughter. "And now I must beg your forgiveness one more time, and reward the young man whose efforts brought the Wardens to me." He turned toward Darrian with a smile, and then gestured toward the doors. "If you'll just follow me, we'll go retrieve your reward."

Darrian was too overcome with panic to move. He desperately tried to meet Alistair or Elissa's eye as they were dragged past him. Failing that, he whirled on the arl. "You said you weren't going to kill them. You promised!"

The arl's smile didn't falter, and he merely shrugged. "I lied. Now, if you want your reward…?"

"You son of a bitch!" Elissa screamed back at him as the guards were almost to the door. "I'll get you for this! I swear it!"

Darrian could only blink in dumb confusion as he watched them go.

"Darrian," Arl Howe snapped, drawing his attention. With a tight smile, he gestured toward the now empty doorway. He could still hear Elissa screaming from down the hall. "Come, let's get this over with."

His feet seemed to move of their own accord as he followed the arl. Howe turned right, heading back toward the study presumably, while the guards had gone left, dragging Elissa and Alistair off to the dungeons, he supposed.

Darrian froze in between, watching the guards drag off the Wardens and wondering what he should do. He tried to meet either Elissa or Alistair's gaze again, but as crazy with rage as Elissa seemed, she was cognizant enough to carefully avoid meeting his eye.  _She's fine,_ he told himself. If she had wanted him to intervene, she'd have indicated it somehow, right? There was no reason for her to act so outraged except to cover for his shock, probably. He had to believe she had a plan for every possibility.

He turned and rushed off after the arl, the thought of at last obtaining the cure to his father's illness pushing out his concerns for the Wardens' well being. He sincerely hoped this wasn't the last time he'd seen them, but even if it was, he consoled himself with the knowledge that he was about to at long last achieve his reward and save his father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: Big thanks to Easternviolet for betaing this chapter and offering her helpful comments and suggestions. And thanks to you readers, for sticking with me. (By the way, follow me on tumblr at thinkdragonage... I've got lots of P&W related fanart over there, as well as other fics and other stuff).
> 
> One thing: Tomorrow will be the two-year anniversary of when I first started publishing Poison and Wine. It's been a long, surprising and instructive ride, and I'm really grateful to have you all along with me for it. I want to say thanks so much yet again to all of you who are reading along, and I also want to give a big special thanks to the people who have commented here:
> 
> TrulyCertain (your reviews mean so much to me! You said such amazingly insightful things, and I'm such a big fan of your work), Hazel, delazeur (Questions Answered is such a masterpiece... I'm so flattered to have you reading my humble offering!), katydid, Phthalo: my rose scene/big kiss would't have turned out nearly so well without your dedication to helping me! I'm in such awe of your ability to turn a phrase that I'm truly flattered that you're interested in my meager prose! (thank you for following me here!)
> 
> Thank you too for everyone who has bookmarked or given kudos. I really appreciate it!


	49. Web, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair and Elissa spend some time in close quarters. It goes about as well as you'd expect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: I've been ramping up my writing a lot lately, so I'm hopeful to update more frequently. Thanks to Easternviolet for helping me make this chapter much better with her insight and suggestions.

_Oh, what a tangled web we weave  
_ _When first we practise to deceive!  
_ — _Marmon,_ Walter Scott

 

The guards walked in silence down a long hallway lit by torches. They kept a tight grip on Alistair's arms, but he didn't resist. His heart was thundering in his chest and his mind was a complete riot of confusion and emotion, but he did his best to keep his expression stone-faced and his eyes open and sharp.

Elissa had stopped screaming, though she still resisted the guards' efforts to drag her forward—not that she could offer much, what with her small stature. She seemed especially tiny right now, between two men who towered over her with their hands firmly around her biceps. Alistair tried not to think too much about what would happen once they got into the dungeons.

According to Elissa's plan, they couldn't break their cover until the location of the vial was confirmed. She had warned Alistair earlier of what they might have to endure in the course of the mission.

" _You don't have to worry about me. I can take a few punches without breaking our cover."_

_Elissa bit her bottom lip and looked away. "Um, that's good to hear, however—"_

" _She's not worried about you_   _taking a punch, Prince Doofus," Solona cut in. "She wants to make sure you don't go all white knight the first time one of Howe's guards backhands her across the mouth."_

" _Solona," Elissa said, her tone a warning as she caught the mage's eye and held it until the other woman looked away, chagrined. "Yes, well…" She trailed off, turning to Alistair. "The point is…what she said is essentially correct. Do you… have a problem with that?"_

Alistair's brow furrowed at the memory. The conversation had taken place yesterday afternoon, before he'd woken up this morning to discover that she'd gone missing… before he'd traipsed blindly into Denerim looking for her, and found her with that pirate…

Ever since he had walked off that ship this morning, images of Elissa and Isabela entwined together continued to haunt him. It made his chest feel hollow to imagine someone else's hands on her body, someone else drawing her soft sighs and making her breath hitch in her throat…

His face grew warm but he willed the anger away, knowing it would do them no favors now. Messing up Elissa's plan was the last thing he wanted to do. It was the only chance they had of saving Arl Eamon, and he knew it.

 _She should be proud of me,_ he thought, unable to let go of all of his bitterness. He told himself that he was simply following her example—focusing on the task at hand and ignoring any uncomfortable questions and emotions until a later time. Wasn't that how she dealt with everything?

As sick with anger and jealousy as he was, he had taken a perverse sort of pleasure in refusing to speak to Elissa at all today. It was ironic; ordinarily he yearned for Elissa to want to talk to him and for them to share their feelings and thoughts with each other. But this morning, when she made it back to their camp and she'd been desperate to talk to him, he'd been completely unable to even look at her, let alone speak with her. The fact that his silence actually seemed to bother her made it all the more appealing for him to keep it.

He wasn't above hoping it hurt her, at least a little. After all, she'd hurt him quite savagely and deliberately. She had once and for all convinced him that he should stop caring about her and move on, because she obviously had so little regard for him and his feelings.

His bitter ruminations were interrupted when Elissa lost her footing and stumbled, hitting her knees on the stone floor. The guards holding her arms yanked her up roughly. "Keep walking, bitch!" the guard on her left screamed. Letting go of her, he drew back his arm and backhanded her across the face with a resounding smack.

She gave a wordless cry of pain and stumbled into the guard holding her on the right, trying to right herself by clutching at him. He offered no help. Instead, he shoved her backward with an evil smirk on his face. She stumbled and fell, landing sprawled out on her side on the stone walkway—her servants' costume tangled between her legs, revealing the leather armor she wore beneath it.

The guards all laughed, but the blood rushing to Alistair's ears made the noise sound like it was coming from far away. His vision was clouded with black spots but he had enough sense to jerk his arms away when he felt the guards' loosen their grip on him, distracted by the display.

Loaded with rage, he charged at the guard who'd struck her, inflicting pain on the deplorable man his only concern.

"Alistair, no!"

Elissa's voice snapped him back to reality, right before he was about to pull his hands free of the ropes. It took a great strength of will (not to mention physical strength) to stop his forward momentum and careen to a stop in front of the guard rather than plow him over. He glared at the man, whose face was covered in a thick, reddish beard. Through a clenched jaw, Alistair spoke in a deep, deliberate tone, each word more firm than the last. "Do not hit her again."

There was a heartbeat of silence as the guards all realized that he had shaken off his captors, and in the next, they all started talking at once. The guards that he'd slipped took hold of him again and dragged him away. The guard he was talking to, however, remained silent, glaring down at Alistair with a look of pure venom. He didn't say anything, but after a few moments he abruptly turned and then knelt down to grab at Elissa's hair.

"Don't," Alistair growled. His struggles only made the guards grip him harder, and then he felt the edge of a sword against his side where his breastplate ended and his greaves began. Alistair stilled, not wanting to impale himself on the sharp blade, feeling his jaw muscles ache as he clenched his teeth together.

The guard with the red beard yanked Elissa up by the braid on her head, and she cried out in pain and surprise as she struggled to regain her feet. When he let go, her other captor grabbed her from behind, pulling her arms up at an awkward and painful angle. Elissa's face contorted in pain and she cried out again.

Alistair felt like his face was on fire as Red Beard turned to face Elissa. She managed to go still when he approached her, and though he couldn't see the guard's face he could read Elissa's expression well enough.  _Terrified_.

He was a half second away from pulling free and strangling the guard to death with his bare hands, when one of the men who had been at the front of the group stepped between Red Beard and Elissa. He appeared to have a good dozen and a half years on all the rest, at least. "Collect yourself, Avery!" he barked out, silencing the entire group. "Our orders were to take the prisoners to their cell… the arl said nothing about roughing them up on the way." He stepped forward, maintaining eye contact with Avery and reminding Alistair rather vividly of a mabari defending its turf. "You will cease this nonsense at once."

"Captain Hendricks, do you have any idea how many of us these two assholes have killed?"

Hendrick's eyes went wide and round. "That's my fucking point, you gods-be-damned idiot." He cast his gaze around the group and it was clear his admonishment was meant for all of them. "You've got the two most dangerous criminals in Ferelden to execute and you're standing here fucking around." He whirled and pointed at Alistair. "That man found an opening to escape during this distraction! Do you know how lucky you are to be alive right now?"

He couldn't help meeting Elissa's gaze at that. There was something pleading in her gaze, but he looked away.

"Get these two to the cell. Now."

No one moved for a moment, but then Avery shoulders slumped and he gave out a huff of breath. "Fine," he snapped, but at the other man's look he added, "Sir."

Hendricks gave a sharp nod. "Get on with it then," he said, before turning and heading toward the front of the group.

Avery reached out and grabbed Elissa's left arm. He yanked her toward him, but only so that she was forced to stand between him and the other guard, who grabbed her other arm. "Let's go."

Alistair let out a long, slow breath as he willed his nerves to calm down. If there was a contradiction between his bitter feelings toward Elissa and his instinctual response to her being hurt, well… he wasn't going to dwell on it now.

After a few more minutes of walking they arrived at a large metal door. It was a slab of some dark alloy Alistair couldn't recognize, and it was unbroken save for a handle in the middle. A guard stepped up to it and pulled the latch down, turning it in a semi-circle. The door slid open.

Elissa was shoved into the cell first, and then Alistair was pushed in after. As soon as the door slid closed, he pulled his hands free of the ropes and looked around.

The room was small—the size of a broom closet, really. A torch on one wall provided the only light. It illuminated Elissa's face when she whirled to face him, her expression suspicious.

"They put us in the same cell?"

Alistair didn't answer, a knot forming in his throat at Elissa's frightened tone. He swiveled around, trying to figure out what was going on.

He and Elissa spotted the vents at the same time.

"Get down!" she screamed, pulling at his arm.

He was already moving. They hit the floor together, as a sharp  _click_  sounded and then a font of flames gushed out from the nozzles placed on each wall at waist level.

Ignoring the scorching heat, Alistair rolled over until he was on top of Elissa, covering her small body with his own to shield her from the fire. The heat of the flames licking his back was almost intolerable, but he had to prop himself up a little by his elbows or he would crush her under his weight.  _Thank the Maker for plate armor…_

The intimacy of their position wasn't obvious until the fire gout abruptly stopped and Elissa stopped screaming. Their eyes caught for one second—hers were wide and round and her face was as pale as chalk.

He averted his gaze and then rolled away from Elissa with a frown, collapsing onto his back on the floor.

That was a mistake. "ARRrrrr yeeeeeooouch!" He struggled to get to his feet as fast as he could, fingers tugging at the straps on his side that held his breastplate in place. "Hot metal! Hot metal!"

The metal started to singe his armor padding, sending acrid wisps of smoke up his nose. He was still fumbling with the first strap when Elissa materialized beside him, a small dagger in her hand. With quick precision she sliced through the armor straps of his breastplate and then his greaves.

As the plate metal clanged to the floor Alistair exhaled noisily; he was left with only his street clothes and armor padding, but he didn't really care—the relief from the painful heat was nearly overwhelming.  _Hated that armor anyway._

It was only then that he noticed the muffled scuffling noises coming from outside the door—it sounded like the guards were fighting.  _Leliana and Zevran showed up,_ he thought with no small amount of relief.

He'd only had a second to catch his breath, however, before Elissa started shouting.

"What in the Maker's name were you thinking?" she screeched, her eyebrows threatening to climb into her hairline.

He stood there blinking at her in dumb confusion. "What?"

Before Elissa could answer, Leliana's voice rang out. "Sorry! That was a bit unexpected. Hang on while we finish…  _argh_." She trailed off, the noise of metal ringing against metal suddenly filling up the small room.

"Why did you  _do that_?" Elissa went on, ignoring the interruption. She stared at him as if he'd just kicked a baby or something. "What in the Void is  _wrong_  with you?"

It felt like he couldn't get enough air. "Are you kidding me? Why did I just  _save your life_  you mean?" When she kept glaring, he threw up his hands. "I'm asking myself that, too!"

Elissa shook her head. "You did  _not_  save my life _._ If you'd have just laid flat we both would have been fine, you absolute  _idiot_!"

He'd kept his anger tamped down for most of the day, but it hadn't been buried deep. It roared alive at Elissa's scolding. "You… you dare say… How can you… after I just... I can't believe I ever…" he sputtered, gesticulating wildly with each outburst. Finally he balled his fists at his side and froze. "You know what? Don't worry about it. It'll never happen again!"

"Good!" she spat, taking a step towards him. "Now you can stop taking these ridiculously stupid risks!"

"Count on it!" he roared back at her, moving forward.

"Then I suppose there's nothing left to say!"

"Great!"

"Fine!"

His anger and his hurt boiled over and he spat out the next words without thinking. "I hate you!"

Her eyes widened for a heartbeat, and then she made an inarticulate growl and whirled around in a huff before stomping off to go stand in a corner.

Feeling an absurd urge to either scream or cry, he crossed his arms over his chest and tried to drill a hole in the door with his gaze, instead. "What's taking so long with the damn door?" he yelled.

Once again Leliana's voice rang out. "Sorry! Just a few more moments, I swear!"

 _Great._ If he had to spend one more second in Elissa's presence, he was going to wind up punching the stone walls in frustration. His face probably looked like that of a madman's, but he couldn't wipe the black look off it, even though his scowling made the pain on the side of his face throb. His mind was so cluttered with thoughts that it took him awhile to notice the snuffling noises coming from Elissa's corner of the cell.

In spite of everything, he whirled around to look at her in alarm.

Elissa still stood in the corner, her back to him. She was perfectly still, and for a moment he told himself that he'd imagined the noise, but then a strangled gasp escaped her, and he finally noticed that she was covering her mouth with her hand and her shoulders were shaking ever-so-lightly. A quiet, muffled sob somehow reached his ears over the blood rushing in his ears.

 _Oh no. Not this._  He crossed his arms over his chest and looked away.  _It isn't fair._  What right did she have to make him feel sorry for her?

He tried to ignore it, but after a few minutes, the sniffling started to get to him. He wished she would either quit, or start sobbing in earnest. He thought he might prefer her to wail loudly rather than listen to this muffled whimpering.

The anger that had burned so hotly inside him started to cool, in spite of his resolve. Against his better judgment, he turned toward her, and then found himself unable to look away from her trembling shoulders.

 _She's not the one who needs comforting. I do!_ He was the one who'd had his heart broken and then stomped on, he told himself… not her.

Still… it was difficult to listen to her. It felt like he was witnessing something raw and private, as she stood there trying to pull herself together. Every few moments she'd grow completely silent and he would think she was going to stop… only to have her start up again in the next heartbeat.

She was trying and failing over and over again to get a hold of herself.

The thought shot another stab of pity through his chest. He wasn't some kind of monster—he could only stand there listening for so long. "Elissa," he gruffed. "Come on. Stop it."

She gave no indication that she'd heard him.

He took a few tentative steps, bringing him close enough to touch her.

"Stop it," he said again, more firmly, but to no avail. Frustrated, he reached out, but stopped himself at the last second, balling his hand into a fist instead. "Elissa! Come on!" he yelled. "If I hated you I wouldn't have just burnt off all my back hair now, would I?"

At last his words seemed to take some effect. Elissa turned turned her head and spoke over her shoulder. "You don't have back hair."

At another time, he might've laughed, but now her infernal literalness was exasperating. "You know what I mean."

It took her a few moments, but eventually she turned around, revealing a red face and bloodshot, puffy eyes. She sniffed loudly. "Yes, you would. You take hits meant for Morrigan and you hate her."

He closed his eyes, annoyed at how her despair affected him. "Well," he said when he opened them. "I... I shouldn't have said that. I didn't mean it."

"Yes, you did!" Her eyebrows rose and her lower lip began trembling.

It felt like something was twisting painfully inside his chest, and he had to look away. He felt helpless… helpless and trapped between his hurt and hers. Of course he didn't hate Elissa—that was precisely the problem.  _It would be so much easier if I could._

Finally, he turned back to her, and when he spoke his voice was barely above a whisper. "How could you do that to me?"

At least she didn't ask him what he meant. "I…" Her nose was red from all the crying; her upper lip swollen and cracked. "I didn't do anything  _to_  you," she said in a small, shaky voice. "I just… I just did it."

His eyes started stinging as he glared down at her, wishing like anything Leliana would just get the damn door open already.  _I shouldn't have asked._ He didn't want to hear her explanation… her excuse. Not here, and definitely not now.

But she went on anyway. "If I had known we would wind up here… with you hating me and… and not talking to me… I never would have started  _anything_  with you."

Her expression and tone were pleading again when he glanced back at her—he didn't think he'd ever seen her so desperate to be believed, in fact. He was unable to look away.

"I hate not talking to you." Her hands were balled into fists and she punched the air. "I hate it!"

"You should have thought about that before—" He stopped abruptly and then shook his head, pressing his lips into a thin line. Though he wouldn't admit it to her now, the truth was that he didn't want to say something else he might regret. "I can't… I'm not ready to talk about this yet!"

"Even before today, you haven't…" She hugged her arms to her chest and winced. "We've barely spoken since Soldier's Peak."

That twisting in his chest was only getting worse. "I… I was giving you your space."

"I don't want that much space," she said, her eyes welling with tears. "You treat me like I'm… like I'm...  _invisible_."

The air in the cell was getting thick and hard to breathe. "That's…. you… that's not my fault. You've made yourself scarce…" He trailed off, thinking of their first morning back at camp. He'd felt Elissa's eyes on him since he'd left his tent, but he had steadfastly avoided meeting her gaze, choosing to chat amiably and loudly with Leliana and Solona instead… That… that silent treatment hadn't really been about giving her her space, had it?

He didn't want this dawning comprehension though… not when the wound in his chest was still open and bleeding… not when unwanted images of Isabela and Elissa still assaulted his mind. He couldn't quite accept that she hadn't tried to hurt him with this... how could she not have known that it would, as smart as she was?

But in any case, they couldn't do this now, and he needed Elissa to pull it together.

"Alright," he said, closing his eyes and trying to swallow down the glass in his throat. "You… have a point." He looked at her, dead serious. "But now is not the time."

She deflated, looking away, and it was clear she thought that he was putting her off. For a second he contemplated just letting her believe that but…

He couldn't.

"We'll… talk after this. I swear. Maybe… maybe we have more to say to each other."

The way Elissa's eyes lit up—it was as if he'd offered her the moon. She wiped the tears out of her eyes, at last able to gather her composure. "Alright... You're right. We have to focus."

She took some deep breaths and as he watched her there was a part of him that still felt shaky and unsteady at the naked display of emotion they'd both just exhibited… He thought from her expression that she might feel the same. They stood there in silence as she composed herself, not meeting each other's gaze.

Reaching in his pocket, he pulled out a clean handkerchief and handed it to her.

She looked at it with surprise, before glancing up at him with a questioning expression. "I… oh, thanks," she muttered, taking the handkerchief and dabbing her eyes with it.

He looked away while she gathered her composure. It all felt strangely… intimate.

They heard a  _clang_  and then the door slid open, Leliana and Zevran appearing on the other side.

 _Finally._  "Thank the Maker!" Alistair had never been so happy to see either of them—especially in Zevran's case.

"I'm so sorry!" Leliana cried. "One of the guards fell on the controls when I shot him. It took me a few seconds to shut off the fire, and then we were a little occupied."

While she appeared sincere, Alistair didn't fail to notice how her sharp eyes flitted from Elissa's face to his own. He wondered, had she kept them in there that long on purpose?

But as he stepped out of the cell he realized Leliana was speaking the truth. The guardsmen who'd led them down into the dungeons were all dead or dying—their remains were strewn across the dungeon, painting the stone walls red and permeating the air with the coppery scent of blood. One guard was still groaning, but the bloody mess of his guts meant he wasn't standing up any time soon, so for the moment he was ignored.

Elissa stepped out of the cell after him, but if the carnage bothered her, she didn't show it. Instead, she made a bee line for a contraption on the wall. It was a box full of levers, and it was attached to a series of pipes that fed into the metal cell they'd been kept in. The rest of them followed her.

"Fascinating contraption!" Elissa said under her breath as she placed a hand on one of the levers.

"I'm not sure  _fascinating_ is the word I'd use to describe a human incinerator," Alistair said in a wry tone as he walked up behind her.

She looked up at him, surprised for a moment before looking away with a hint of a smile on her lips. "Fair enough."

He didn't turn around to confirm it, but he would have bet all his gold that Leliana was smiling smugly behind him.  _Whatever_. He rubbed his chin. "You know, I'm a little surprised. I thought for sure Howe would want to keep us around to torture, rather than just killing us outright."

Elissa turned to look at him, and when he glanced around he saw that all three rogues shared the same expression: they looked at him as if he'd grown a second head. "What?"

"That cell is meant for torture. It wasn't meant to kill us." Elissa gestured at the box. "Notice how there are multiple levers? That's so someone can control which vents are working." She pulled one, and they all heard a  _whoosh_  sound coming from the metal cell.

They turned around as one to stare through the open metal door.

"See how only one of the vents is working now?" She moved the lever again and the flames went out. Grabbing a second one, she pulled it, and everyone could see how a different vent was firing now. "There's enough room in there to avoid the flames if you're quick," she said, avoiding Alistair's gaze, which he had to admit he felt a little grateful for.

_At least she didn't call me an idiot again…_

Her brow furrowed. "Burns are horrifically painful and hard to treat, but getting engulfed in flames for a few seconds won't kill you outright. We'd have been in agony from our burns, and he could have played with us, making us try to guess where the flames would shoot out next…"

 _There's a lovely thought._ He looked away, not wanting to contemplate how it all could have gone wrong.

One of the pipes that led into the small cell ended in a cone shaped metal contraption near the box of levers, the flat surface of its bottom covered in holes. "What's that?"

Elissa noticed his pointing. "Oh, yes. It's a speaking tube… that's how we could hear Leliana so clearly, right?"

Leliana stepped up to it. "I've seen one of these before on a ship… they called it a voice pipe[1]. I'm not sure how it works, but it does." She bent her head so that her mouth was near the cone. "Hello there!" she said loudly. They could all hear a slight echo coming from the metal cell.

"It works because sound travels faster in a solid than it does in air," Elissa explained. They all turned to look at her with varying degrees of confusion. She waved a hand. "Never mind. It's not important. What's important now is that we—"

"Wait, so we could hear Leliana clearly… does that mean you could hear us?"

He'd turned to ask the question of Leliana and Zevran, but he could see Elissa's head jerk up sharply out of the corner of his eye. Zevran didn't bother to hide the smirk on his face, but Leliana wore a look of innocence that he was pretty sure was feigned.

"We were all a little preoccupied," she said, gesturing to the bodies on the floor.

That seemed to appease Elissa—or at least she was content to pretend she believed Leliana—because she whirled around again to the box of levers. "It doesn't matter," she said. "What matters is that we make this thing nonoperational."

He decided to let the matter drop as well. After all, they had more important worries now. "Do we have time for that?"

Elissa gave that look that meant she would brook no argument. "We will make time for it. We are not leaving this in Howe's hands."

Neither Leliana or Zevran seemed inclined to argue. "Alright," he conceded, lifting up his arms in surrender.

Elissa set to work on the box of levers, and Alistair moved away so that he could stand by the stairs and watch for anyone coming down them. After a few moments he heard a scuffling sound behind him. Without turning around, he crossed his arms over his chest and said, "You can wipe that look off your face now."

Leliana gave a soft, delicate sounding snort, which was kind of an impressive feat all on its own, and then she said in a serene tone, "What look is that, Alistair?"

He turned. Her face was just as he thought it'd be—wearing wide smile and batting eyelashes. "Look, I know what you're thinking but just… don't," he whispered. "Nothing has changed. I just need her to get through this to save my uncle. Understand?"

Leliana's eyes widened fractionally, but then she shrugged. "At least you two are speaking again."

He shook his head mutely, not wanting to explain further if she was so blasted determined not to get it. Thinking she'd won the point she moved away.

The guard they'd left alive groaned again by Alistair's feet, capturing his attention. A slow smile spread over his face when he saw who it was: Red Beard.

He knelt and grabbed a sword out of a corpses' hand before turning to the dying guard.

The man only noticed him when Alistair was right next to him. "Please," he said. "Fetch a healer… I can pay you! I can help—" A sputtering cough erupted from him, spraying blood in a fine mist.

Alistair didn't wait for him to recover. With one swift, smooth motion, he jammed the sword point downward through the guard's neck, killing him instantly.

Feeling satisfied, he turned away, determined to resume his vigil at the stairs, but his gaze caught Zevran's and he froze in place.

The elf was shooting him a look of pure contempt—it arrested him not because he cared much either way about Zevran's opinion of him, but because it varied so much from the carefully calculated expressions the Crow's face normally wore. Zevran didn't usually bother to care that much about anything, as far as Alistair had seen.

"What are you looking at?" he snapped, irritated with himself for letting the elf get under his skin.

Zevran's cold, dead eyes didn't leave his, but he said nothing.

 _Annoying_. Alistair glanced over at where Elissa stood at the other side of the room, and then took a few steps toward Zevran. "All I did was try to protect her," he hissed.

Zevran's eyes narrowed into slits. "Elissa neither needs nor desires your protection. Offering someone a gift they clearly do not want is not generosity, my dear  _prince_. It's manipulation."

"No, that's… I don't…" Alistair's jaw clenched together. "That is not what I'm doing. At all." The anger from before returned, and Alistair was tempted to direct it at a new target. But this still was not the time or place. "Just… just focus on that damn plan of ours and leave me alone."

Not waiting for a response he stomped away, taking up his perch by the stairs once again. His head and heart were in more chaos than he'd probably ever felt in his life, but it didn't matter. Right now, all that mattered was the plan; all that mattered was finding the antidote.

He would deal with Elissa later.  _If there is a later,_  he thought, as the sound of footsteps drew near.

"Heads up," he said, in a voice just loud enough that others could hear. "We're about to have company."

* * *

_[1] from :_

_On board ships, a speaking tube is more likely to be called a voicepipe, in line with the long maritime tradition of unique nomenclature for many items and practices. On land, a device of this type is called a speaking tube or sometimes a megaphone. Their history goes back several centuries to at least the 17th century and perhaps even earlier. They were most common on ships, particularly warships, although it was not uncommon for them to be found on large commercial ships as well, especially as ships became larger in the 19th and early 20th centuries. On land, they were often found in large buildings, in the homes of affluent private citizens, and occasionally, in automobiles, trains, or airplanes._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the second of a three part arc. I hope to get Web, Part 3 out as soon as I can. Thanks so much for reading.


	50. Web, Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darrian struggles to keep up with the twists and turns of Elissa's plans.

 

 _Lost in the riddle you gave me  
_ _Caught in the middle, you played me  
_ _See so plainly  
_ _But there's nothing left to say  
_ _I should've known  
_ _I should've known…  
_ — _Octahate,_  Ryn Weaver

Darrian kept looking around as he followed the arl through the maze of hallways of the estate, but no guard or mage accosted him. The halls seemed deserted, in fact, and when they turned a corner to bring them to the large, wooden door of the arl's study, it occurred to him that Howe was taking an enormous risk by turning his back on him. If Darrian wanted to, he could pull the big sword off of his back and put an end to Arl Howe once and for all.

His hands twitched, wanting to stray to the sword at his back, but he shook off his impulse when the door swung inward and Howe walked into the study without turning around.

 _Be patient,_  Elissa had told them all.  _We have no idea if Howe has the vial on his person, or stashed somewhere. Until we lay eyes on that bottle, we cannot break our cover._

" _But once we have it…"_

_Elissa turned to Darrian and frowned. "We should still try to remain undercover once we have it. It'll be much easier to escape if Howe doesn't realize he's been had until long after we've quit the place."_

The arl had to be stupid or arrogant or both to leave himself alone and vulnerable with Darrian. Elissa's instructions had been clear, though, so he kept his hands balled into fists at his sides and followed the arl into the study.

Howe never even turned to look at him; instead he walked up to the bookshelf and pushed one of its occupants. The sound of stone scraping stone filled the small room as part of the wall moved, turning on some hidden axis to reveal a small cupboard. Howe reached in to pluck something from its depths and then turned and walked back to the desk where he set it down with a small  _thunk_.

It was the same little bottle he'd seen the arl holding after his father had collapsed. It was the size of the tip of his finger and it sat on the corner of the desk waiting for him.

" _So wait,"Darrian said, drawing an annoyed glance from Elissa. "You're telling me your plan doesn't involve taking care of the arl?"_

_The Warden's jaw set in place. "Correct."_

" _But… I thought… I thought your whole plan here was to destroy him?"_

_Elissa shared a glance with Zevran before fixing her steady gaze on Darrian. "I will take care of Howe eventually—do not concern yourself with that." She paused to take a deep breath. "As much as I'd like revenge, that's not what this mission is about. We need to slip out of the estate without raising an alarm so we can leave the city without the guard after us."_

" _Oh, right. That'll give you more time to mix up the antidote too, right?"_

" _Precisely."_

Darrian's left eye started twitching. He couldn't move forward though. He just stood there, staring at the vial.

Howe gave an impatient sigh. "Well? There's your reward, boy. I suggest you take it and get back to your father."

He couldn't keep the suspicious look from his face as he took a step forward, his long legs bringing him within reaching distance of the vial in one stride. He reached out to pick it up and then froze, looking at the arl out of the corner of his eyes. "That's it? I mean… you're… you're just going to give this to me?"

Howe put a hand to his chest, as if he were offended. "We had an agreement, did we not? This is your reward. You don't think I'm not a man of my word, do you?"

Long years of living near shems had trained him how to respond to these ridiculous questions. "No, no of course not," he said, before grabbing the vial and looking down at it in the palm of his hand.  _It worked,_  he thought with growing excitement.  _Elissa's plan worked._

He was about to turn and dart out of the door when Howe spoke again. "I need your father alive. He is integral to my plans. As are you."

That didn't sound good, though he had no idea what  _integral_  meant. "What plans?"

The corner of the arl's mouth twitched. "Your father will corroborate your story. You will tell everyone that the Wardens collaborated with Tevinter blood mages to peddle Fereldan elves into slavery, of course."

The big words threw him at first, but then Darrian realized what the arl meant. "My father won't lie for you."

"Yes," Howe said. "He will." Placing his hands on the top of the desk and leaning forward, he spoke his next words in a threatening tone. "Or else no amount of antidote or clever girls will keep your knife-eared father alive."

The urge to pull his sword off his back and behead the despicable arl nearly overwhelmed him. Clenching his jaw together, he closed his fist around the vial and then closed his eyes.  _It doesn't matter. We'll be long gone after Pa wakes up._  He opened his eyes.

From the way Howe's eyes darted around the small study, Darrian figured it only just then occurred to him that he perhaps shouldn't have left himself alone with this giant elf and his giant sword. The blood mage that had so frightened Darrian earlier was nowhere to be seen, which was probably another reason why Howe's face was looking so sweaty at the moment.

 _Elissa had something to do with that, I bet._ The thought finally spurred him on—he had to trust in the Wardens' plan. So, instead of murdering the arl where he stood like he wanted to, he gave the man a curt nod and turned on his heel and left the study.

He hurried through the hallways of the estate, heading for the servants' entrance he and Alistair had used earlier that day. He had no idea where he was supposed to meet up with Elissa. She'd told him not to worry about it, that someone from her party would find him and bring him to where he needed to be.

 _Just get your hands on that vial_ , Shianni had said.  _Let Elissa think you're playing along, but the second you get the antidote, you race back here._

He had flat out refused to even think about double-crossing Elissa when Shianni brought it up, but now that the tiny bottle was in his hand…

 _What if Alistair and Elissa can't make it out of the dungeons?_ The question should have filled him with dread, after all that Elissa had done for him, but the truth was, it filled him with hope. It made him feel selfish and small, but at that moment, he wanted the Wardens' plan to fail.

It was not that he wished them harm or anything, of course. It was just that… now that he had what he wanted, Shianni's argument sounded much more reasonable. At that moment, getting the antidote to his father felt far more important than honoring his word with the Wardens.

Without really thinking about it, Darrian increased his pace, the door at the end of the hallway becoming tantalizingly close with each step. It took an enormous amount of will not to break into a run, but even he knew how suspicious that would look.

When he was close enough to see the faces of the guards that flanked the exit, he felt triumph start to bubble up inside of him. His word to the Wardens was forgotten—as soon as he was outside the estate, he would make a break for it, he promised himself.

 _No one can blame me_. Elissa and Alistair, well… they would have to fend for themselves. His family had to come first. Getting the antidote to his father, and then getting his family out of Denerim was now the priority. He'd bought passage on a ship to Kirkwall for four people: his father and him, Shianni and Soris, though getting a ship's captain to take his coin had been a trial, more so than even earning it had. Zevran had let him keep a portion of the gold they'd found on all the bandits they'd killed together, and Darrian had stashed it away in a cloth sack that he'd buried beneath a floorboard in his father's house. Combined with the gold he'd stolen from Vaughan, it had been enough to not only pay for their passage, but also for him to secure a promise from the ship's captain that they could leave that very night.

Before he could reach the door, however, he felt a strange sensation that made him freeze in place. Something with tiny little feet scurried across his back—without Elissa's warning, he probably would have yelped and started flailing around. He looked down at himself in horror. A plump white mouse appeared at his hip and then ran down the length of his leg and darted to the closest wooden door to dash under it. A moment later, an acrid smell filled his nostrils and the door opened, revealing a member of Howe's guard on the other side.

Instinctively he reached for his sword on his back, but then the guard took off his helmet, and it wasn't a guard at all… or a man for that matter.

It was Elissa's mage friend…  _not the skimpy dressed one… the other one._

"Solona?" His voice was a cracked whisper.

Her face sported a tattoo that matched his own, he noticed dumbly. She waved him into the room frantically.

He glanced around, but the only people nearby were the two guards stationed by the exit, and they were preoccupied in some conversation with each other. Feeling like he was moving underwater, he strode toward the room. Solona moved aside so he could enter what appeared to be a small closet. When she shut the door, they were plunged into almost total darkness, until she uttered a word and a little green wisp of light materialized in the air above them.

"Alright," Solona said, rubbing her hands together.

 _What in the Void?_ "What… you… you were… in my… why?"

A corner of Solona's mouth curved upward. "Hey, believe me it was nowhere I wanted to be either. Elissa wanted someone around to watch your back, of course."

He swallowed the lump in his throat.  _Of course_. He should have known Elissa wouldn't let him slip away so easily. "Right. But, uh… what's with the tattoo?"

She looked at him blankly for a second, before barking out a laugh. "This?" She brought her hand up to her face and touched the edge of the black mask with the tip of her finger, smudging it. "Purely temporary."

"But… why?"

She grinned widely. "I'm your decoy… in case Howe's got someone tailing you. I'll lead them on a merry chase to give you all more time."

"Oh." That made a lot of sense, but nevertheless his stomach twisted at the thought. His plan to abandon the Wardens to their fate made his chest ache with guilt.  _Well, I didn't do it at least._

"So, what's next?"

"Next, we get you to the dungeons—"

Before Solona could finish her thought, they both startled—someone turned the doorknob.

Solona fell to her knees, facing him, and the wisp of light winked out, just before the door banged open. The light from the hallway torches filled up the room. "What's going on in here? Oh! Ah…"

Solona gave a little embarrassed giggle, before wiping her hand across her mouth. The familiarity of the gesture combined with her position made something in his mind click. He pretended to fiddle with his laces of his breeches, half turning so the guard couldn't see. "Uh… nothing!" he said, not needing to fake the guilty tone in his voice. "We were just… um… talking."

The guard leered at Solona as she got to her feet and brushed off her pants. "Right, talking with this one on her knees…" He looked her up and down and then smirked. "Didn't anyone ever tell you it isn't polite to talk with your mouth full?"

Solona's blush seemed genuine when she glanced over her shoulder back at Darrian. Turning back to the guard, she pursed her lips and batted her eyelashes. "You're not going to tell on us, are you?"

The guard's face was pock-marked with acne scars, and he had a crooked nose that had been broken one time too many, but Solona looked at him as if he were a debonair prince. He glanced both ways down the hallway, before turning back to Solona with a greasy smile. "That depends… on if you want to 'talk' to me too."

Solona's face brightened—she looked like someone had just offered her a hundred sovereigns. Putting one hand on her hip, she beckoned him inside with the other hand, curling a finger.

The guard seemed too distracted by his luck to question it, and he stepped inside. The second he was past the threshold, Darrian rushed forward, slamming the door shut with his shoulder. The guard whirled on him. "Hey! Get out of—"

Darrian's fist connected with the side of the guard's face before he could finish, and Solona scrambled out of the way as he fell to the ground unconscious. He grinned at Solona. "Quick thinking!" And then, because he couldn't resist, he said, "You have a lot of experience hiding in closets or…?"

Her eyes narrowed. "You could say that."

 _Right. Don't push it._ He cleared his throat. "What now?"

Kneeling down to go through the unconscious guard's pockets, she retrieved a few coins and a set of keys. "Now… we wait for this guy's friend to show up and repeat our little show."

"Oh." He helped her push the guard's unconscious body out of the way, up against the wall, and then turned and faced her. "So," he said, shooting her his best grin. "We could… try and make it look more realistic…"

Her face contorted into a grimace. "Ew! Not if your life depended on it, buddy."

 _Shouldn't that be_ your  _life,_ he was about to say, but the doorknob turned again, and Solona dropped to her knees.

The repeat performance worked just as well as the first one had and after finding a bit of rope and tying the guards together, the two of them slipped back into the hall. Solona explained in a hushed whisper that she was going to lead him to Alistair and Elissa in the dungeons. The thought put a hard, dry lump in his throat, but he did his best to appear cooperative.

It was a frightening prospect at first, the idea of him sneaking around anywhere. His cousins had always called him clumsy and loud whenever they'd tried to sneak off as kids, but Solona didn't complain about the racket he made as they tiptoed around the estate.

He had to admit, having a mage around made it easier. She was able to shape-change as needed and could sneak ahead to see if the coast was clear. If it wasn't, she still had tricks up her sleeve—when they had to move through a room full of guards, she managed to put them all to sleep. Terrified that they would all wake up when they were in the middle of the room, Darrian nevertheless rushed after her as she led him through the roomful of snoring men.

"Notice how Howe doesn't have any women in his guard?" Solona whispered when they were in an otherwise empty hallway. "Elissa says she should have known he was rotten from that clue alone."

"That sounds like something my mom would have said," he whispered back. "She always said that women were better and more conscientious fighters than men."

Solona turned to look at him with one eyebrow raised. "Your mom sounds like a smart woman."

"She was." His heart felt suddenly heavy. He wondered what his mother would have said had she known what he'd been tempted to do. Or would she have taken Shianni's side in this?

The question wasn't one he could dwell on, however, because they'd finally made it to the stairs leading into the arl's dungeons.

"Oh, it's you." Alistair was at the bottom of the stairs, holding a sword and standing in a ready stance. He'd lost the Templar uniform he'd sported earlier—now he only had on his armor padding and breeches. But, he was alive.

"In the flesh," Solona said cheerfully as she stepped off the bottom step. Then, she gave a start and let out a whistle. "You've all been busy."

Darrian was too shocked by the scene before him to speak as he made his way into the room. The carnage strewn across the stone floor and walls made his stomach heave. Bodies lay crumpled in large pools of blood—some missing limbs, and every one of them sporting a gruesome fatal wound.

And to think, he'd actually wondered if they would make it out of the dungeons alive…

Elissa had been standing with her back to him, her head bent over some contraption on the wall with a bundle of pipes and gears. The top of the box was open and she was fiddling with something inside of it. The servant's garb she'd worn had been discarded—she looked sleek and dangerous in the tight fitting leather armor she must've hidden under it. She whirled around when she heard Solona speak. "You're here! Do you have it?" she said, eyes shining and trained on him with razor-sharp focus.

He gulped as he reached into his pocket and pulled out the tiny vial to hold up before him.

The rest of them stepped closer… in truth they left him a wide berth, but he still felt suffocated by all the attention.

None was worse than Elissa, however. Her gaze never left his hand as she walked up to him. She held out her own. "Give it to me."

Closing his fist around the bottle, he snatched his arm back. "I think I'll hold on to it for now."

Elissa blinked a few times, frowning until a line formed between her brows, before shaking her head. "Of course," she said, shooting him a strained smile. "We need to focus on escaping now, anyway."

Just then, Elissa's other friend—the scary one from his house, what was her name?  _Lily?_ —appeared at an entrance opposite the one he and Solona had used, Zevran following closely behind her. They were both frowning. "There are no other prisoners here, Elissa," the red-haired woman said.

He wasn't sure what the significance of  _that_  was, but even he noticed how everyone seemed to freeze at her statement and stare at Elissa.

Elissa's hands were clenched at her side and her jaw worked silently for a few moments, before she shook her head. "He must've moved his prisoners, knowing we'd be down here and not wanting to risk anything." She bit her lip and looked away. "That has to be it," she said softly.

The others looked around, looking uncertain and uncomfortable. No one spoke or made a move to leave, however. They all looked to Elissa and waited.

"Very well," she said, after a few more moments. "It's time for us to go."

She strode to an empty cell that sat against the eastern wall and opened it with a loud  _clang_  before heading inside to stand before the stone wall it abutted. The rest of them made their way over until the cell was surrounded by curious onlookers. Elissa smoothed her hands over the stones in the wall, as if she were looking for something. "Ah ha!" She pushed against a stone that was near the floor.

Nothing happened, but Elissa seemed satisfied for some reason. She repeated the gestures again for several more stones placed in various positions on the wall. Finally, her hand hovered above a stone that was set in the middle. "This should do it," she said, pressing her fingertips against it.

Just like in the study, the scraping of stone against stone filled the dungeon room as an opening in the wall appeared—it looked just large enough to fit an average sized human.

"Maker's breath," Darrian exclaimed. "How'd you know about that?"

She turned to him, eyebrows rising slightly. "I've been here before once… as a child."

 _You've been to the Arl of Denerim's dungeons?_ He wanted to ask, but something in her expression made him hesitate, and then she turned and nodded crisply at Solona. "You—take Alistair out this exit so he can head to the rendezvous point while you go find Howe's guards and then lead them on a merry chase. Got it?"

Solona saluted. "Aye, aye, Captain." Alistair shot her an angry look at that, though Darrian couldn't guess the reason. He knew better than to ask now.

The big shem had to squeeze himself sideways through the opening, but he finally managed it. Solona reached out and squeezed Elissa's shoulder. "Take care, Princess," she said softly, shooting her a reassuring smile before ducking inside.

He heard the hard swallow Elissa took after that, but she turned toward Zevran and the other shem with a stone face. "You two have your exit mapped?"

Zevran nodded. "We shall find our beloved Wynne and our Qunari friend near the Chantry. They should have had plenty of time to drop off their  _delivery_  by now,  _si_?"

Elissa gave a small smile and nodded. "See you at the rendezvous point."

"What about us?" Darrian asked as the two rogues slipped up the staircase and back into the estate. He had no idea how they were getting out of Howe's mansion, but he figured it was just another item in a long list of things he didn't need to know.

Elissa turned to regard him, brow furrowed over those big green eyes of hers. "We'll escape in a minute," she explained. "But first, I need you to do something for me."

He cocked his head to the side, curious as to what task she could possibly have for him, but before she could tell him, he heard a slight scuffling that could only mean someone light-footed had started descending the stairs. He couldn't keep the realization from his face, and Elissa's eyes went wide at his sudden change of expression.

"How many?" she whispered.

He licked his lips. Someone that quiet… had to be an elf. "Just one."

He blinked and Elissa darted toward the stairs. The distance she traveled in the time it took for the thought to register made his head spin.  _How in the Void…?_ Was he just seeing things now?  _Nobody can move that fast._

She flattened herself against the wall to better prepare to ambush the unlucky stair descender, apparently unconcerned that she'd left him gaping in the middle of the room. And why should she be concerned, if she could move like that?  _Was that a Warden thing or…?_

He'd only managed to take a few steps when an elven servant appeared, a fat bottle of wine in each hand. She must've been moving along at a steady clip, probably with her chin tucked into her chest and her eyes on her feet—the unobtrusive and unassuming posture familiar with any elven servant wanting to last at their position (it never worked so well for him)—for her not to notice the carnage that awaited at the bottom of the stairs.

She noticed it then, though… and the two poor wine bottles paid the price, slipping out of her hands to crash on the stone floor.

" _Maker's breath!_ " The servant was a ruddy-faced brunette that wore her hair in two small pig-tails under her ears. She looked impossibly young.

Elissa was again faster than he'd have thought possible, appearing behind her and yanking her head back by grabbing at the top of her hair. He recognized the gleam in her eye as a fatal one. "Stop!" he cried, feeling impossibly slow… again it was as if he were underwater, watching Elissa move above the water line. She was just so bloody  _fast._

She did stop though— _praise Andraste._  Her dagger was poised to make a killing swipe across the woman's neck. "What?" Elissa snapped. "We don't have time for this!" In spite of her ire, Darrian could see the way her dagger shook in her hand.

He held out his hands. "She's just a servant, Elissa! She doesn't deserve to die for this…"

The poor girl was too scared to make a noise, and Darrian prayed she had sense enough to stay quiet for a few seconds longer if she wanted to live. "If we let her go she'll go straight to Howe and tell him what's happened," Elissa hissed, shifting her hand so that she could clamp it over the servant's mouth. Her eyes darted around, as if expecting another poor innocent servant girl to come bursting out of the stonework.

The girl made some noises against Elissa's hand, but Darrian didn't meet her eye—he kept his gaze trained on Elissa's. "So? Aren't we just about to leave anyway?"

He thought he might have finally gotten through, as Elissa hesitated—she jutted out her jaw and looked off to the side. "Yes, but… we need a head start."

"So we tie her up! We're in a damn dungeon… how hard can it be to find a bit of rope?"

Elissa's gaze flitted to his, and then back to the trembling servant whose life she held at the end of her dagger. "I… I guess that works. There are some ropes in the metal cell. Hurry up."

He sprang into action, darting toward the cell to retrieve the ropes from the floor. As he rushed back to Elissa he couldn't help marveling that it had been quite so difficult to talk Elissa out of killing an innocent servant girl. He… well, he wondered then if he hadn't pegged her all wrong.  _Great timing, genius._ The voice in his head sounded like Shianni's.

Elissa stared at the rope proffered in his hand for a few seconds, before removing the dagger from the girls throat and pushing her towards him. "Tie her up and make the knots tight _._ "

She sheathed her dagger and then looked around until her gaze landed on a crumpled bundle of black and white cloth. As he tied the girl's shaking hands together, Elissa picked up the servant's dress and started tearing it into strips. "Don't worry," he whispered to the frightened girl. He could have sworn he'd seen her before in the alienage—but her name escaped him at the moment. "You'll be fine once we get out of here."

When he finished, Elissa inspected his work and nodded to herself, before unceremoniously shoving a wad of cloth in her mouth.

"Is that really necessary? We just want a head start… don't choke her for Maker's sake!"

Elissa ignored him and whirled the girl around so that she could tie another strip of cloth over her eyes.

"What in the… Elissa! What the fuck are you doing?"

Elissa shoved the girl forward and she stumbled and fell, curling into a shivering ball on the floor where she landed. She whirled to face him, eyes flashing with dangerous anger. "Look, Darrian Tabris, the things you do not understand could fill a dozen volumes, but I don't have time to explain everything to you. I've gotten you this far so now you need to just be quiet and trust in my plan. Understand?"

Her green eyes were piercing as she glared up at him. A part of him wanted to argue and demand answers but the fear that she was right and he was going to ruin everything with his stupidity was too great to overcome. He gulped and then nodded, trying to ignore the squirming figure on the floor. "Alright. Alright… what now?"

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a second, before opening them and nodding toward the cell with the secret door. He followed her inside when she walked over to it. Squaring her shoulders, she gazed at the opening for a few heartbeats, before pulling a short, silver dagger from a sheath on her forearm. She turned to him. "Give me your hand."

He mutely obeyed.

She grasped his wrist and then dragged the silver dagger over the meat of his palm.

"Ouch," he said, yanking his hand away. "What was that for?"

"Just a moment," she said, wiping her dagger clean against her breeches before returning it to its sheath. She looked up at him, eyebrows drawn together. "How do you feel?"

"How do I—?" What kind of question was that? He looked down at his bleeding hand and winced. "My hand hurts where you sliced it open!"

She turned her head and watched him out of the corner of her eye, and Darrian suddenly suspected that she was prepared to dart away from him if needed. But why would she—?

Before he could give voice to his question, the world seemed to lurch forward and he stumbled. Elissa was at his side then, helping him lower himself to the floor. "I… my legs… I can't feel them!"

She slipped away as soon as he was settled on the floor, taking a few steps and then turning to watch him as he stared up at her in dumb confusion. "Elissa, what the fuck!?"

She crossed her arms over her chest and stared down at him. "The dagger was coated with a paralytic poison. It isn't a lethal dose and the effects should wear off completely in about an hour. Can you move your arms?"

Darrian looked down at where his hands rested in his lap. He tried to lift them, but they felt as if they were encased in stone. "No! What the… why would you do this to me?"

She uncrossed her arms and walked up to him, her mouth curved downward into a deep frown. "I'm… I'm sorry Darrian. I lied to you. I can't make another copy of the antidote." With that she knelt down and moved his arm aside as if it were an inanimate object. He could do nothing but watch as she slipped her hand into his pocket and retrieved that precious bottle.

It was getting hard to even breathe, let alone talk and the panic building up inside him was excruciating with no outlet. "M-my f-f-father…"

Her frown deepened into a grimace of pain as she stared down at the bottle in her hand. Closing her fist over it, she took a deep breath and then met his gaze. "Will die without the antidote, I know." She fell silent and stared at him for a few heartbeats, her face pulled into a thoughtful frown. "I could tell you that many fathers have died… including mine. I could say that many more will die… maybe all of them if we don't defeat this Blight. I could justify all of this by saying that I need Arl Eamon's help to bring any kind of order to this realm… and that without an organized front, Fereldan will surely fall to the Blight. I probably will tell the others that, but… I think you deserve to know the truth." Turning her head to gaze out at the dark maw of the secret exit, she went on in a softer voice. "The truth is I have to save Alistair's uncle for him. Arl Eamon is one of the only people Alistair can count as family, and I don't want to leave him—" Her voice seemed to catch in her throat. "I don't want him to lose anymore than he has to." When she met his gaze again, her big eyes were glassy with tears that didn't fall. "I have to choose between him and you… and I'm sorry, but I choose Alistair."

His heart was going to burst inside his chest. He wanted to scream at her, to jump to his feet and cleave her smug little face and body in two. She was leaving him and his father to die by the arl's hand, and she wanted him to believe she felt bad about it? That she had no choice?

His last and only means of defiance was to spit at her as she moved toward the door—it was an ineffective and pathetic attempt however and just left him with a wet chin. His cheeks were just as wet as tears escaped his eyes to flow freely down his face.  _Shianni… you were right_

She turned back at the entrance to the secret tunnel and winced. "You did betray me first, you know," she said in a quiet voice, before turning on her heel and disappearing into the blackness.

 _Pa… I'm so sorry…_  His last thought was of his father's frail, sunken-in face before the blackness overtook him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: Many thanks to Easternviolet for looking over this chapter for me and helping me make it better.
> 
> Also, if you want to follow me on tumblr, you can find me as thinkdragonage over there.


	51. Stuck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elissa runs into an obstacle on her way out of the arl's dungeons.

_If I was not myself  
__And you were someone else  
__I'd say so much to you  
__And I would tell the truth  
_ ' _Cause I can hardly breathe  
__When your hands let go of me  
_ — _Dead in the Water_ , Ellie Goulding

 

The tunnel leading out of Arl Howe's dungeon was pitch black, but Elissa wasn't worried as she picked her way down. After a couple of turns, it would open up to a wide underground cavern. There would be a sconce to the right of the entrance, and she had flint and steel with which to light the torch.

Still, her skin was slick with sweat by the time she made it to the cave.

The flames illuminated the wide cavern. Stalagmites and stalactites larger than her grew toward each other—their stony spires had been cut away only enough to provide a narrow path heading south. With a deep breath, Elissa plunged ahead, trying not to think about the elf she'd left behind.

The path narrowed again for a distance before opening up into another large cavern. It was a pattern that would repeat several times as Elissa hurried toward the exit. Fortunately, the tunnel didn't offer much in the way of choices—it lead steadily in the same direction, without branching off.

She had walked for a good five minutes before the first traitorous doubt set in.  _I should have pulled the lever..._

Her pace slowed and she turned to look behind her…  _his eyes went so wide that they became two sovereign-sized white circles peering out of the middle of his black mask tattoo…._ She shook her head and turned back to the path ahead of her. She couldn't stop for this. She couldn't afford to be so sentimental.

 _Stop the Blight. Save Alistair. Avenge my family._ Those were the only goals that mattered anymore—it was a short list and nowhere on it did it say 'save random elderly elf and his family.'

Her stomach heaved all of a sudden and she lurched over and retched, the contents of her gut splashing against the stone floor. The heaving continued even after her stomach was empty, and she could do nothing but ride out each wave, her eyes watering and her jaw aching. Finally, the spell passed and she was able to press onward after rinsing her mouth out with a drink from her canteen.

 _It was a mistake to leave the entrance to the tunnel open._  Wincing to herself, she imagined Zevran's reaction when she told him what she'd done. It hadn't been part of the plan, and it was a stupid move, but she hadn't been able to bring herself to pull the lever to close the opening in the dungeon wall. Maybe if he'd been clever she could have counted on Darrian to memorize the sequence she'd used to open it, but he wasn't used to having to rely on his wits. If she'd pulled the lever she was certain his fate as a prisoner would have been sealed.

This way, she could convince herself that he had a shot of escaping. It was the only opportunity she could afford him. By now she'd passed the point where turning back would make any sort of sense, so she moved forward with the knowledge that she and Zevran would simply have to adapt to the altered situation. This was one small hiccup in the execution of an otherwise perfect plan. He'd have no business complaining.

She hadn't lied when she told Darrian that there were many good reasons to save the arl over his father. She could easily justify her decision to the others as being a difficult but necessary call to make in the middle of a Blight. Only she (and now Darrian) knew her real motivation was something much more personal.  _Selfish, even._

She couldn't leave Alistair behind without a single person in the world who cared about him. Eamon had fallen short in many ways as Alistair's guardian and benefactor ( _Maker_ , her daydreams about how things might have been if only Alistair had come to Highever were so appealing that they'd turned bittersweet with longing) but the amulet she'd found in his study proved that the arl cared at least a little for her Ali… saving Eamon gave them the chance to have a better relationship, at least. It was something… she could do so little now to actually make him happy…

But she alone knew why she was doing what she was doing… and she alone would suffer for her decision. Her happiness and the opinion of her peers were irrelevant. She had to gird herself against the misery that accompanied her new philosophy—it was an inevitable outcome for the path she'd chosen, and it wasn't something she could avoid. She'd achieved a sense of clarity after all.

Avernus' revelation served as the catalyst for her to finally settle a question that had plagued her ever since she'd become a Grey Warden. Why her? Why had she been saved and not so many others?

The answer was that she hadn't been saved at all, of course. No, she'd been spared now only so that she could die later. As awful as the truth had been to accept, it did bring with it a measure of peace—things made  _sense_  at last, and that was no small thing.

_As Elissa stumbled down the darkened stairs, mind reeling from the world-shattering information she had just learned, she could only think one thing: Avernus was right. She did wish she didn't know._

The Grey Warden who kills the archdemon dies.

_She kept telling herself this simple truth as she made her way to the main hall in the darkness. Prince walked beside her, giving out nervous whines._

_She very nearly stepped in her own claw trap when her mabari appeared at just the right moment, blocking her path and bringing her to a sudden awareness of her surroundings. "Maker's breath… good boy."_

_His eyebrows went up and down as he stared at her, as if he didn't like the note of desperation he'd heard in her tone. With a sigh, she patted his head and made her way back to their camp._

_She drew up to her bedroll and only then allowed herself to look at the figure nearest it._

_Alistair still slept. His peaceful expression was lit by the flickering fire and all at once Elissa found herself wondering how she could have ever found his face anything less than breathtakingly handsome. Her throat threatened to close up and her eyes watered as she climbed into her bedroll and curled up onto her side, facing Alistair where he slept._

_She was filled with such clarity, as she watched him. She couldn't help herself. She started crying, softly at first, but then she must've grown louder because after perhaps a minute, she felt something brush against her elbow, and heard Alistair say, "Elissa?"_

_She pulled her hands away from her face to see him staring at her in concern, his good arm stretched as far as he could reach toward her. "I'm so sorry I woke you," she said, unable to keep the tears out of her voice._

_He tried to pull at her sleeve and she slipped her hand over his. "What's wrong?"_

" _Nothing. A dream." It all threatened to overwhelm her… the loss of a future she'd only just realized she wanted… her face grew warm as more tears threatened to fall. "Just a stupid dream."_

 _He frowned…_ how is he so handsome when he frowns? …  _and then asked, "I thought the litany helped with that?"_

_Her eyes had attained that swollen, itchy feeling acquired from excessive bouts of crying and she still didn't feel like she was finished, but she had to pull herself together for Alistair. She could not reveal the horrifying truth to him now, in the middle of the night. He needed his rest. "Not that kind of dream," she whispered._

" _Come 'ere."_

_He pulled on her hand slightly, but she resisted, looking at the bandages he still wore, and his arm that was wrapped against his chest. "No. Your injuries—"_

" _Are on the other side. Come here."_

_She was weak and could not deny his command. Curling up next to him, she rested her head against his uninjured shoulder, and closed her eyes, trying not to think. It only took a few moments for Alistair's breathing to even out and turn to snoring._

_She lay there in silence, marveling at her own obstinacy._ Of course,  _she loved Alistair. It was absurd that it had taken her so long to face it, but she was at last aware of the exact nature of her own heart. It occurred to her that she was cursed. It seemed she only ever knew what she felt once it was too late._

Elissa shook her head to clear the painful memory from it. Thinking of her feelings for Alistair right now wasn't advisable. She needed to make it to the exit and quickly head to the rendezvous point.

At last, the path lead her into the largest cavern yet. It ended with this cave. To continue out, Elissa had to climb a set of rickety wooden stairs that had been constructed against the cavern wall. An upper level walkway that encircled the top of the cavern and granted access to a tunnel to the surface. She tried not to look down as her boots thudded against the wooden boards.

Two pairs of footprints disturbed the dust ahead of her where Alistair and Solona had walked.

The thought of facing Alistair again after all that she'd done made her chest feel tight, but she told herself that her companions must have left the tunnels by now. They'd had a good head start on her.

She stepped off the wooden walkway and into the tunnel that led out of the cavern, placing the torch into a sconce in the wall. When she turned she saw two figures stationed at the end of the tunnel.

Solona and Alistair turned toward her when she gasped. "That was fast," Alistair said, eyebrows rising in surprise before furrowing with suspicion. "Where's Darrian?"

Ignoring that question seemed the best option for the moment. "What are you still doing here?"

Alistair and Solona shared a look, and then they stepped apart and revealed that the tunnel's exit had been barricaded. Where once there was a rounded maw large enough for two to walk abreast, iron bars now stretched across the opening, looking as if they'd grown into the very stone.

Elissa raced up to the bars, gripping them and pulling as if she could shake them loose. "No, no, no, no, no…"

Solona cleared her throat. "So… I take it the iron bars are a surprise?"

"They weren't here before!" She whirled around to face them. "I swear it! They weren't here when I visited as a child, and I asked Zevran to check this exit days ago and he said it was clear!"

Alistair made a clicking noise with tongue and rolled his eyes. "That's what you get for trusting him."

Elissa she clenched her teeth together and whirled back around to stare at the iron bars, breathing out of her nose and biting her lips to keep from responding. While Alistair's opinion of her wasn't supposed to be a priority anymore, hearing him spit out the words  _I hate you_  back in the cell was one of the worst moments of her entire life… and considering her history that was really saying something. She didn't want to do anything to elicit that kind of a response again.

She'd never intended to get Alistair to  _hate_  her—that had been Isabela's flippant characterization of her actions, but it hadn't been her true goal.  _I just want to spare him… and not break him when I leave him behind._ It had seemed a noble and attainable goal when she'd come up with it, and it had guided her steps ever since. The truth was that more of her actions were motivated by concern for him than he would ever know. It wasn't fair; it wasn't easy, but it was the way things had to be.

Still… if she could manage it, she would rather not have him hate her. So rather than react angrily at Alistair's disdain for Zevran, she chewed her lip and tried to  _think._

Frowning at the iron bars, she examined the exit, desperately trying to find some kind of clue that would lead her to a solution. "Shit!" she spat out after a few moments of fruitless observation. "Shit, shit, shit!"

A warm hand pressed against her shoulder. "Calm down, Elissa," Solona said. "We'll think of something. We've got time… no one knows we're down here yet, right?"

Elissa couldn't stop the wince from spreading across her face. "Well…"

"Where's Darrian?" Alistair asked again, his voice more firm than before.

Suddenly parched, Elissa licked her lips and tried to come up with the words. "Darrian… didn't make it. He was… incapacitated and I had to leave him behind, I'm sorry to say." Solona's eyes went wide, but Alistair's narrowed with suspicion, and Elissa cursed her fair skin when she felt a guilty blush start to crawl up her cheek. "I… I know I was supposed to shut the secret entrance but I couldn't… I thought maybe he might have a chance to recover and make it out if I left it open."

"Fuck," Solona said under her breath. Alistair's frown deepened, but he looked away and said nothing, leaving Elissa feeling both guilty and relieved.

She cleared her throat. "So… there's a good chance Howe's guards will discover the state of the dungeons…"

Alistair's gaze snapped back to hers and she saw comprehension dawn in his eyes. "And then they'll follow the tunnel right to us," he finished for her.

She bit her lips together and nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

"Fuck!" Solona said more loudly this time. "Fuck! You gotta think of something!"

"I will! Just give me a second, will you?"

Elissa whirled around again to face the bars, grasping them in her hands and trying to shake them. They didn't give at all, feeling quite sturdily attached to the stone. She examined the connections to see if they could perhaps chip through stone… but it looked like the iron bars were bored directly into the rock and there were no bolts that she could try to undo.

"Alright, our only option is to either bend or break these iron bars. Can you conjure a flame hot enough to make this metal malleable?"

Solona gave a shrug. "I can try."

Swallowing her fear, Elissa stepped away to give the mage room to work. Solona stepped up to the bars and then held out her hands in front of them. After a few seconds, a fire appeared, licking the bars with silent, smokeless, magical flame.

 _Will it be enough?_ Biting her lip, Elissa stared at the flames, wondering how long they could give Solona's magic to work. How soon until Howe's guards discovered the entrance to the secret tunnel?

"So does Zevran know?"

Elissa was so startled by Alistair's question that she jerked bodily. Smoothing a hand against her hair, she took a deep breath and tried to recover. "I… what? Does Zevran know what?"

Alistair looked off to the side and crossed his arms. "That you were always planning on double crossing Darrian?"

The painful twisting in her chest turned icy as she blinked up at Alistair.  _He knows?_  He was more perceptive than she'd given him credit. Her hands twisted together in front of her until she balled them into fists and put them at her sides.  _Remember why you're doing this._

"I… couldn't make more antidote. I would have if I could, but I couldn't, so I made the choice to cure the man with enough political power to challenge Loghain over some elf's father that I've only met once..."

Alistair's gaze hardened on some point in the middle distance, and his jaw worked, but he didn't say anything.

 _That's… good enough._ The fact that he hadn't said anything to Solona was encouraging. She stared at him for a few moments, but when he didn't say anything else she let the matter drop and turned back to watch Solona. The muscles in Elissa's neck and upper back had begun to ache from the long minutes of tense observation when Alistair spoke again. "If you were planning on leaving Darrian behind from the beginning, why leave the secret tunnel entrance open?"

Her mouth opened, but she could not form the words to answer so she snapped it closed and frowned at Solona's back. "Is it working, Solona?" she said, more loudly than was necessary to be heard over the roar of the fire.

Solona stopped casting and stepped back, shaking her hands as if they were wet. Alistair and Elissa crowded the bars to see her progress.

The iron would need to glow a warm and molten orange for them to have a shot at bending the bars… but their color remained unchanged. Cautiously, Elissa held out a finger and touched the side of an iron bar. The metal was hot, sure enough, but not hot enough to even singe her skin. "Dammit!"

"Sorry, fire isn't really my forte," Solona said from behind her. "I'm much better with ice."

Elissa cocked her head to the side, thinking for a minute. "Yes… ice… water expands when it freezes… maybe…" She nodded sharply. "Yes! Freeze these bars—get them as cold as you possibly can, over and over, got it?"

Solona exhaled loudly and then nodded. "Let me pop a potion first."

A noise in the distance reached their ears and the three of them stared at each other in silent terror for the span of two heartbeats. Then, they spurred into action. Solona yanked a blue potion out of her pocket and downed it while Alistair and Elissa darted back down the tunnel to scout.

They couldn't see anyone yet, but once they poked their heads into the big cave they could hear the voices and footsteps coming closer. "Shit," Elissa said under her breath.

"Guess Darrian's not making it out." Alistair's tone was light and confusing like always.

She turned her head sharply to look at him.  _Was that an accusation or an observation?_  Unable to tell the difference she decided to ignore it, whatever it was, and bolted back down the tunnel to Solona.

The temperature had dropped by the exit, and the mage frowned in concentration as she blasted the iron bars with ice. Her black makeup had started to streak with sweat in spite of the cold. Heedless of the magic, Elissa stepped forward to inspect the bars. "Hey!" Solona snapped. "I almost froze your head off!"

"Sorry," Elissa mumbled distractedly, narrowing her eyes to peer at the bars. Could Solona really make the bars cold enough to make them brittle? The spell worked on people well enough, but iron was a much harder proposition. But they didn't have more time to wait. She turned and saw Alistair walking toward them. "You're the strongest. Take a swing at these bars and see what happens."

She and Solona backed away, giving Alistair a wide berth to swing his borrowed guard's sword. The ex-Templar took a few seconds to steady himself before striking out hard and fast with his sword.

The metallic  _clang_  that rang out reverberated down the tunnel and into the cavern, echoing loudly behind them. The noises of their pursuers grew louder, no doubt encouraged by the racket Alistair made. Elissa tried to ignore them as she dashed forward to inspect the bars.

They hadn't broken, but Elissa huffed out a disbelieving breath anyway—the middle bar was cracked with a spider's web-like series of fractures. "One more swing will do it!"

Alistair nodded and she backed away again. "They're just up ahead!" she heard someone shout, the words bouncing down the tunnel to them.

Her heart was in her throat as she watched Alistair grasp his sword with both hands again, taking another moment to breathe deeply before drawing back and crashing his sword into the iron powers again.

This time the metallic  _clang_  was joined by a sharp  _crack_ , and a chunk of the middle bar fell away. Solona and Elissa both screamed in joy and rushed forward.

"Solona, you go first." Elissa helped the tall mage maneuver herself through the still-narrow opening they'd made in the bars. She slipped through a moment later and then whirled around to help pull Alistair through as well.

But he just stood there, staring at the space between the bars. "Um…"

All of the blood in her face rushed downward. There was no way that Alistair's wide chest was going to make it through the narrow opening. "Oh no…"

Alistair coughed and then looked behind him. They could hear the noises coming from the tunnel. Howe's men would be upon them at any moment. "You two go… I'll hold them off and try to buy you some time—"

Elissa lurched forward and grabbed one of his arms with both hands. "No!" She yanked backward and surprised him enough to pull him forward. "I am not leaving you behind. You have to at least  _try_ to squeeze through."

Alistair grabbed on the bar to keep her from pulling him any closer. "Elissa! Stop it. You have to think of the Blight… of Ferelden—"

"Fuck Ferelden!" Her sudden and wild scream startled all of them. "Fuck them all. I am not leaving you behind! If you stay, then I stay." She wrapped both of her arms around one of his meaty biceps and pulled it close to her. He would have to pry her off of him with a crowbar.

Their faces were close together as she hugged his arm to her chest. He had to met her gaze then, and for the first time all day she saw something other than angry recrimination. Now there was an aura of hopelessness and fear mixed into his expression. "Stop and think 'Liss! What good does it do for  _both_ of us to get caught?"

She stopped shaking her head to look at him, holding his gaze with her hard stare. "Look at me Alistair: I. Am. Not. Leaving. You. Do you understand me?"

His green-gold eyes studied her face for the a few seconds before they widened in understanding. "You're serious?"

 _He knows… he knows when I am._ It felt good to be understood. "I am always serious."

His forehead wrinkled into a deep scowl as he stared back at her-looking as if he were struggling to decide whether to be more angry or confused. Finally he shook his head and let out a huff of breath. "Fine. I'll try."

With that, Elissa started to loosen her grip, but then stopped suddenly. "If you don't come out I'm coming back in."

Alistair didn't answer but by the set of his jaw she figured he understood. He bent his head to duck through the opening, twisting sideways to try and squeeze through the narrow gap.

He got to his mid-chest when he got stuck. "Ugh… I can't fit through, Elissa, I told you!"

The sounds of shouting became loud—the men had entered the cavern.

"We'll make you fit! Come on, Solona! Grab his other arm."

Even with both of the women pulling he wouldn't budge. "Stop!" he gasped. "I'm not fitting through here without breaking a rib!"

The sound of booted feet stomping on wooden boards reached Elissa's ears. She leaned forward until her face was mere inches from Alistair's. "Then we'll break your fucking rib!"

"Shit!" Solona swore next to her as Alistair's eyes went wide. "That could be dangerous… could puncture a lung… he could  _die_ , Elissa."

She turned her intense glare on to Solona. "He'll  _wish_  he was dead if Howe's men capture him."

That made them all silent for a single heartbeat, and then Elissa and Solona prepared to tug him through until they heard his bones crack… the thought was a sickening one but as Elissa braced her feet against the iron bars near the floor she knew it was the only way all three of them would get out alive.

"Ok, pull!" she yelled, not bothering to waste time with a count. She and Solona both yanked on each of Alistair's arms with all their might, straining to get the big man through the too-small gap. The veins on Solona's neck were bulging out and Alistair had started groaning in pain at the pressure when someone yelled from within the cavern behind Alistair, "There they are! I see them!"

Elissa wanted to scream in frustration. She and Solona were pulling as hard as they possibly could, but they could not get Alistair through that opening. "Solona," she gasped, wanting to conserve her strength but desperate to do  _something_. "Direct some ice at a rib?" she spat out, hoping Solona would gather her meaning. Maybe a small direct ice spell would make Alistair's rib fragile enough to shatter…

The thought of what that might do to him was enough to make Elissa's stomach heave, but she didn't have time for such delicate sensibilities.

"Yeah!" Solona yelled, still pulling on Alistair's arm. She let go with one hand and reached out toward Alistair's side, casting with her next breath.

A circle of frost appeared at Alistair's side, spreading from the middle of his chest to the top of his hip. Elissa's mouth was painfully dry as Solona grabbed on to his arm with both of hers again and the two of them started pulling. Suddenly it was enough. They heard something  _crunch_ and then Alistair was through the opening, pitched head-first and falling on top of Elissa.

It took all of her remaining strength to push out with both arms and shove Alistair's body off of her. "Help me!" she cried as she scrambled to her feet. The two of them hooked their hands under his armpits and dragged him away from the tunnel opening… they'd spilled out of what looked like a sewer entrance that sat nestled into a hill outside Denerim's city walls.

They'd moved Alistair some dozen feet when one of Howe's guards appeared at the bars. He gave a shout and then started to try squeezing through the opening. He wasn't nearly as muscular as Alistair but he still struggled to get through at such an awkward angle.

"Oh no you don't!" Solona yelled, leaping to her feet. She thrust out both arms toward the cave in front of them, and then all the hairs stood up on Elissa's neck as Solona's magic  _moved the earth_  around the iron bars, effectively dropping a ton of rocks on top of it.

They were safe.

Elissa let out a sigh of relief and then her gaze landed on Alistair's unconscious form. A crimson stain was seeping through his armor padding at his side and his face was turning blue.

"Solona!" she screamed, the panic threatening to overwhelm her. If she lost Alistair to  _this_ , after all that she had done…

The mage appeared at her side a second later, skidding to her knees and pushing Elissa away. "Alright," she said as she laid her hands against Alistair's side and closed her eyes.

Elissa moved so that she sat near Alistair's head, placing a hand on his forehead and brushing away the strands of hair that stuck to it. "He's not breathing. What do we do?"

Solona's frown wasn't reassuring. "It would have to be the same side he injured before," she muttered under her breath, and then looked up and caught Elissa's peaked face. "It's alright. I can save him, but I've got to mend the bones before I can mend his lung and this wound… he'll need help breathing. Have you ever heard of mouth-to-mouth resuscitation?"

Elissa nodded, her stomach flipping over. It was little-known in Andrastian countries, but she knew some clever mages had developed the procedure. Placing her hands at Alistair's chin and nose, she took a deep breath before bending down and sealing her lips against his mouth, blowing what she hoped was life-saving air into his lungs as Solona started casting the healing magic that would save his life.

It probably was only a dozen seconds, but it felt like an agonizing wait until Alistair's head jerked and he sputtered and coughed. Elissa sat back with a loud gasp, feeling like she could cry with relief as Alistair's eyes opened and he tried to focus on his surroundings.

Suddenly she was back at the Circle tower, that first time she'd found herself terrified for Alistair's sake and not her own. What had he said when he'd opened her eyes and shot her that infuriating smirk?  _I didn't know you cared._

That smirk had long since stopped being infuriating, and in that moment of weakness Elissa thought to herself that she would pay almost any price for him to shoot her that crooked smile again.

He didn't though. When his eyes finally focused, he stared up at Elissa with a deep frown, before looking away and struggling getting to his feet. She tried to help him up by grabbing his arm, but when she made contact with him, his whole body went rigid and he froze until she snatched her hands away.

The rejection felt like a sharp rebuke and Elissa's eyes prickled with hot tears. She blinked them rapidly, looking off to the side and hoping no one noticed her reaction. What had she expected? Instant forgiveness for all of her transgressions? She couldn't expect that… not ever. The only consolation that kept her going was the knowledge that she would not have to live with herself for very long.

"Very well, we should move on," Elissa said, clearing her throat and hoping she sounded steadier than she felt. The others nodded at her and she turned and started walking away with a heavy and weary heart.


	52. Regret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group reunites and flees Denerim.

_If I cried me a river of all my confessions  
_ _Would I drown in my shallow regret?  
_ — _Black,_ Sarah McLachlan

Tonight the sky was more clear than Zevran had seen it in quite some time. It loomed over the Fereldan countryside, blinking with cold stars that taunted him with their indifference. The moon wasn't quite full, but it still provided ample light to illuminate the stretch of hard-packed dirt and stones that served as the north road leading out of Denerim. Here the road wound around a squat hill dotted with trees. The little rise provided the perfect location for Zevran and the others to hide themselves as they waited for Elissa and the rest to return.

So far the road had been deserted—a sign that the night was progressing as planned. He had to give Elissa credit: the convoluted scheme she developed had seemed to work like a charm. In addition to their other successes, the others had managed to eliminate the arl's pet blood mage: The Tevinter human was dropped off at the Chantry's doorstep, hands bound, a gag in his mouth, and wearing a sign on his chest that simply said "blood mage."

It was an outlandish touch, but Zevran couldn't say he disapproved. It would have been easier to simply kill the man, but Elissa wasn't content to settle for easy. If there was a chance to use the mage to blacken Arl Howe's reputation, she was compelled to take it. Besides, even if the Chantry was unable to make the connection between the mage and the arl, it was still one more blood mage off the streets. The others had not objected.

He wondered if they would feel the same about Elissa's decision to steal the antidote from Darrian and leave the poor elf behind in the arl's dungeons.  _If she says anything at all, that is._ He still held out hope that Elissa would follow his advice.

_Elissa and Zevran had been standing at the creek's riverbed for the better part of an hour. His boots were going to be coated with thick mud, but it was easy to brush that concern aside to listen to her sophisticated lilt. She had dragged him here moments after she had returned to camp from Soldier's Peak. Wasting no time, she'd begun describing in meticulous detail the clever plan she'd concocted to acquire the antidote. It was so fascinating he almost forgot to leer._

_Still, he could not help wondering if she really had the stomach for it. "This last task… it need not be yours. You could leave this unpleasant duty to me."_

_Elissa considered for a moment, biting her plump bottom lip and looking off to the side. She shook her head and then met his gaze. "No. This is all my doing… I should be the one to finish it."_

_Feeling an odd sense of misgiving, Zevran nodded along. "The others… they may not approve of this."_

" _I know. That's why we can't tell them anything. We have to keep this between you and I until we're out of the city at least. Then, well…" She grimaced in thought. "Then I'll tell them and deal with the consequences."_

_His expression must've turned dark, because she looked at him in concern. Smoothing his features, he gave a little shrug. "It may be more prudent to simply not tell them at all. That would be easier—"_

_Elissa shook her head. "No, I can't… I don't want to keep any more secrets than I have to."_

_That was probably prudent. Most people overestimated their ability to hide the truth. "As you wish."_

Staring out at the stretch of empty road, Zevran cursed himself for not insisting that he be the one to divest Darrian of the antidote. What if Elissa changed her mind, and then all of the risks they'd taken would mean nothing? She wouldn't lose her nerve now, at the culmination of all their planning… would she?

A few minutes later, three figures appeared on the road and the tightness in his chest that he'd been trying to ignore for the better part of the day eased at last.

His descent down the small hill was graceful and quick, and he got to the bottom just as the others drew up to it. Smiling broadly, he said in a loud whisper, "I see the plan has worked…"

Before he could finish Alistair rushed forward, slamming his hand into him and grabbing at the front of his armor. Zevran was so surprised by the aggression that he failed to react in time and found himself hoisted up and slammed against a nearby tree so hard that he had no breath with which to make a clever quip.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Crow?" Alistair spat out at him, punctuating the question with a hard shake.

It knocked Zevran's head against the tree. "Getting concussed, apparently," he said with a groan.

"Alistair, don't hurt him." Elissa twisted her hands together in front of her. "We need to just… calm down." Her protest sounded half-hearted, however, which stung a little more than Zevran would have guessed.  _So much for friendship…_

It was only then that Zevran noticed how Alistair was favoring his right side—he managed to hold Zevran up with only one hand, which was a testament to the big man's strength, but the way he held his left arm tight against himself probably indicated some kind of injury. Zevran was about to find out—a knee to the groin and a punch to his injured side ought to work, when Alistair shook him again.

"You betrayed us!"

Zevran's eyes went wide.  _What in the Void had happened?_ "I have done no such thing."

"Liar!" The word was joined by another hard shake.

Zevran gritted his teeth. He would have liked nothing better than to have extricated himself from the angry Warden's grip, but he hesitated to resort to violence—especially with his loyalty in question. It would do him no good to extricate himself from Alistair only to have to face both Solona and Elissa. "That may be true, but in this case, I doubt it." He looked at Elissa and raised his eyebrows. "What is this about?"

Elissa stepped forward, studying his face closely. "When we got to the exit of the tunnel we found it blocked… with iron bars."

Mercifully he didn't have to feign the surprise in his expression. "They were not there when I checked the other day." He swallowed a dry lump in his throat and kept his gaze trained on Elissa's. "I swear it."

Elissa hesitated, frowning while she searched his face. After a few seconds she nodded. "I believe him."

It filled his chest with an odd and sudden warmth, and he couldn't help the smile that started twitching at his lips.

Alistair, however, remained unconvinced. He rolled his eyes. "Oh well, that settles it then."

In another situation it may have been comical to watch Elissa's face light up, oblivious to his sarcastic tone. "Good! Then put him down, please."

"That is reasonable request, is it not?" Zevran shot Alistair a mischievous grin. If Elissa believed him, he'd already won. "Not that I dislike the manhandling, mind you. It's just usually I require dinner first…"

Alistair scowled and then made a disgusted noise. "I still don't believe you."

With that the Templar let go of him, and Zevran had to scramble to catch himself from falling at the sudden drop.  _Brasca!_  One of these days he ought to poison the loaf's food. He certainly had sufficient cause.

"Think about it," Elissa said. "It doesn't make any sense for him to have betrayed us." She looked around, and spotted Morrigan, Sten, Leliana and Wynne picking their way down the hill. "Why would he still come to the rendezvous point if he didn't expect us to make it out of that tunnel?"

"I don't know. Maybe to take care of the rest of them?"

"Pray tell—what ridiculous argument are you having now?"

Morrigan's mocking lilt brought color to Alistair's cheeks, but he steadfastly ignored her, and directed his question to Elissa. "Why in the Void would you believe him?"

Elissa's gaze flitted to Zevran's and she offered him a small smile before turning back to Alistair with a serene expression. "Because, he wouldn't betray me." She jutted out her chin. "We're friends."

Alistair stared at her with incredulous, wide eyes. His mouth opened and closed, giving him a distinctly fish-like appearance, before he at last decided to snap his jaws shut. "Fine. Just don't come crying to me when he stabs you in the back… again."

With a huff, Alistair turned and walked a few feet away before stopping and crossing his arms. Elissa stared at his back for a moment, and then shook her head and turned to Zevran. "Sorry about that," she said with an apologetic wince that disappeared a moment later, replaced by an expression of determination. "But now we need to focus on what we're going to do next."

The others exchanged looks—well, except for him. They rather conspicuously avoided his gaze.  _Bueno_. This little incident had done nothing to endear him to the others.

"Aren't we heading for Kinloch Hold?" It was odd to see the elderly Circle Mage in anything but her traditional robes—she wore head-to-toe black, like the rest of them. The best color for clandestine jaunts through noble estates at night, Zevran had told them all, eliciting a giggle from Leliana.

Elissa crossed her arms over her chest. "That was the plan, yes. But now the arl knows exactly where we exited his estate… it'll be easy for him to come here and pick up our trail and follow us."

Sten's baritone rumble could probably be heard a league away. "You failed to leave the estate unseen?"

All eyes turned toward Elissa and she blushed. "Something like that." Alistair wasn't so far off that he couldn't eavesdrop and gave a disgusted sounding noise, but Elissa pressed on, ignoring the interruption. "Look, there's no time to explain everything right now—we need to get out of here."

They discussed their options for a few moments, though Zevran was content to remain silent and let the others unravel this knot. Anything he suggested would likely be met with suspicion and objections from Alistair, so he just held his tongue. Eventually they came up with a plan—the Drakon river was not far. They would follow the river south until it wound its way west. From there, they'd look for a place to disembark. The terrain was rocky and uneven in this area, which would make travel difficult, but everyone remained hopeful that they might find a cave to hide themselves away in until morning.

"With any luck, our pursuers will give up when they see we've entered the woods. Most Fereldans are terrified of getting lost in there… and even if they don't quit their pursuit, it should be easier for us to avoid them." She gave a shrug. "Or set a trap for them. Either way, the Brecilian Forest provides the best chance of escape."

Alistair had seen fit to rejoin the discussion, though he was still glowering. "So then what? We just get lost and wander aimlessly around the woods for the next two months?"

"The more lost we get, the less easy it'll be for the arl's men to find us," Elissa said evenly, before shrugging one shoulder. "But no, we won't wander forever. Solona will be able to scout for miles if she shape-changes into a bird. Hopefully, we'll be able to make contact with one of the Dalish clans so we can deliver the treaty and secure their aid." She turned toward Morrigan as she slipped a hand in her pocket and retrieved the vial. "You know how important this is, don't you?"

Morrigan's eyes narrowed into slits. "'Tis a fact you've impressed upon me many times. Do not worry—it shall be delivered to the arl shortly."

The two women faced each other, each staring at one another unblinking, until at last Elissa nodded and held out her hand. "Good luck, Morrigan."

The witch gave a tight smile before plucking the vial out of Elissa's hand and secreting it away in a pocket of her skirt. The air seemed to shimmer around her for a moment, and then with a poof of acrid smoke, Morrigan was gone and an enormous black bird flew off into the night sky.

The rest of them stared up at the cold stars, until Solona cleared her throat. "Uh, Elissa? There's just one problem with your little plan. I don't know how to shape change into a bird yet."

Elissa gave an exasperated sigh. "Well, you'll have plenty of time to teach yourself as we 'wander aimlessly' around the Brecilian Forest, won't you? Come on. We've wasted enough time talking. We need to move."

They set out for the Drakon river, keeping their mouths closed and ears open. Zevran and Elissa walked at the back of the group, counting on his superior hearing to catch the sounds of hoof beats before anyone else. So far, the night had been quiet.

Save for the chaos of his mind, that is. The more they walked, the more Zevran had time to think, and the more his thoughts churned, the more uncomfortable he became. His current mixture of emotions was both curious and troubling. He felt relieved that Elissa believed him… but he also felt mildly offended that she didn't leap to his defense. He felt pride at their mutual accomplishment—she had learned well the lessons he'd taught her—but he also felt a strange sort of disappointment. He should be pleased that she was capable of pulling off their complicated ruse, but looking at her expression now made his chest feel oddly hollow.

Ever since Elissa had returned from Soldier's Peak she had seemed so… distant. Sad, even. There was something about her disposition that struck him as disturbingly… familiar. No one else seemed to notice.

Of course, that probably had something to do with how stubbornly Elissa tried to hide it, while her supposed victim had no qualms about playing up his despair to the others for sympathy. Leliana had been spending every spare moment with him, at first bending an ear to the woes of his poor broken heart, and then indulging him with conversation at every spare moment. It had irritated Zevran to see how Alistair played up these interactions whenever Elissa was near—he smiled more and laughed louder whenever their leader wandered nearby. If Zevran didn't know better he'd wonder if the Chantry sister's charm wasn't somehow related to her proximity to Elissa.

But what could he say? The squeaky wheel gets the grease, as the saying went, and since Elissa was so determined to hide her despair, he was at a loss as to what he could even do to help. He doubted she would appreciate very much if he pointed out that he knew how little she'd been sleeping lately. He could hear her moving around her tent until late into the night, but no matter how early he rose he found her already awake. Dark circles were starting to form under her eyes, making her look older.

He sighed as they splashed through the water at their feet. Luckily the river was flanked on both sides by a small strip of pebbled shore. They were able to walk just along the river's edge—wetting their pants below the knee—so they could throw off any canine pursuers.

It had been hours and they hadn't heard anything. Risking a conversation with Elissa felt important just then, for some reason. "Elissa," he whispered. "How are you?"

Her face was illuminated by moonlight when she turned to stare at him in incredulous anger. "I am  _fine_."

Of course, she hated the question. It couldn't be helped, however. " _Si_ , this I know, of course, my lovely Warden. You're quite capable of handling the most dire of circumstances with grace and wit." The flattery made her expression soften, so he plunged ahead. "However, I know what you had to do today was not easy." He paused, trying to pick his next words carefully. "Perhaps it would be best to keep the details of Darrian's fate a secret for the time being?"

"Alistair knows… Solona might've overheard." She shrugged. "He'll tell the others." Frowning at her feet, they walked for a few more moments in silence, and then she sighed. "It doesn't really matter. It's not like any of them could possibly think  _less_  of me right now." Hugging her arms to her chest, she glanced over at Zevran with a wince. "I don't know what came over me."

It was obvious that they were no longer talking about Darrian, but had switched to the subject of Isabela and their wild (he assumed) evening together.

 _Such trifling concerns for someone with the fate of the world on her shoulders._  He lifted his eyebrows and replied in a mild tone, " _Lo siento, mi amiga_. If you're looking to me to provide recrimination for your supposed crimes, you'll have to search elsewhere."

Elissa's eyebrows shot up. "But… but I behaved deplorably! I ran off without telling anyone and made everyone worry." Her frown deepened, and she started blinking rapidly. "I should have just stayed in my tent."

Zevran kept his tone light. "Seeking out a distraction from your worries in the arms of a beautiful pirate is hardly a crime, little dove. I could hardly fault you for that… other than to lament the fact that you overlooked my possible contribution to that effort, that is."

The corner of her mouth curled upward. It was good to see her smile… even better to see her blush. "Er… sorry," she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She was quiet for a few heartbeats, before she turned to him with a crooked smile. "But you know, if we did that… we'd inevitably fall for each other and I'd end up in the exact same spot I am now, wouldn't I?"

He barked out a laugh, but when Elissa's face contorted into a frown, he realized that she was in fact, serious. "Ahh, of course," he answered in airy tone, determined to play it off as a joke anyway.

Her easy assumption that he would fall for her or she for him shocked him—it seemed a ridiculous leap for her to make. As if one night of passion could affect either of them so profoundly.  _As if all it would take for her to fall was the smallest little nudge. As if someone like her …_

He sighed, disappointed that his protege could still demonstrate such naivete and sentimentality. Yes, that was what he felt—disappointed, he told himself, face folding into a frown.

They continued on in silence for the rest of their journey.

* * *

Their luck held out—they found a stream that trickled to the south and followed it, looking for a place where they could hide themselves away until morning. It was well after midnight when they stumbled upon the perfect location.

They almost missed it—the gap was nearly grown over with weeds, but Zevran's sharp eyes noticed the opening and he'd hacked through the plant life to unblock the entrance. It was a naturally formed cavern whose roof was open to the sky—a nice touch considering they planned to forgo a campfire lest it be too easily spotted by their pursuers. As it was, the moon and stars provided enough light for the party to set up camp.

He had his own tent at last, and set it up cheerily at the western edge of the cave. Elissa had purchased it for him the day prior to the arl's party. He hadn't made any complaints about sleeping under the stars, but she'd presented it to him without commentary. The others had looked on with disapproving glares, but Zevran ignored them in favor of marveling at his improved circumstances. It was a tiny pup tent large enough to comfortably sleep only one person, but it beat sleeping under the cold stars as he had been. They said that the current weather was an uncommonly warm streak for Ferelden—if that was the case, Zevran dreaded the fall and winter.

The others spread out around the cave, setting up their tents with plenty of space between them. Elissa set traps at the cave's entrance and set watch for the night—only one person needed, she said, considering their secluded and well-protected location. If they were found, they had a good defensible position where they could dig in. Still, the attitude of the group was more weary than wary, as they'd seen no sign of any pursuit for miles.

It was late and everyone was exhausted. When Leliana had asked after Darrian, Elissa announced that she was too exhausted to get into it now and that they would speak more in the morning. In spite of the way Alistair glared, he didn't raise any objections.

He felt exhaustion pulling at all of his muscles and his entire body feel heavy, but he didn't crouch into his tent just yet. Almost everyone else had retired. His lovely Warden serving as the only other exception besides himself and Sten on watch. After a few heartbeats of contemplation, he grabbed his pack and headed for where Elissa reclined with her back against a large and wide boulder that jutted up against the eastern wall of the cavern.

His footsteps made no sound, and she was staring up at the stars as he approached, so she startled at his greeting.

"Zevran? Why aren't you sleeping?"

The corner of his mouth curved upward. "I could ask the same of you. Care if I join you?"

She gave a shrug and he settled himself beside her, with his back against the boulder. "I feel too restless to sleep, yet."

"Ahh," Zevran said. "I may have something for that."

She looked at him again, eyebrows inching upward.

Reaching into his pack, he grasped the bottle he'd stashed there. The rounded curve of the bottle was a familiar and comforting weight in his hand. "Antivan brandy… a fine vintage at that. I managed to liberate this from the arl's collection on my way out of the estate." He held it out to Elissa. "Care for a drink?"

The smile that had been teasing at Elissa's lips vanished. "That's… that's very kind of you, but no thank you." She met his gaze briefly before looking upward. "I don't trust myself with that."

"No? Ah well, if you change your mind…?" He trailed off, and then uncorked the bottle and took a long pull, smacking his lips together and sighing as the burgundy liquid danced over his tongue, spreading warmth throughout his body. "Antivan brandy is the finest in all of Thedas. You do not know what you are missing, little dove."

"I'll take your word for it."

They sat there in silence, both of them contemplating the swirling stars scattered across the inky night sky. Zevran raised the brandy bottle to his lips and drank again, enjoying the buzz of alcohol in his veins.

"Do you believe in the Maker?"

The brandy bottle halted in its progression to his mouth. He stared at Elissa for a few seconds. He wouldn't have pegged her as a person interested in metaphysical mysteries. Taking another swig from the bottle, he shrugged. "Would it surprise you to learn that I do?"

"Not really. Belief in the Maker is fairly common."

"And yourself?"

A few seconds went by. "You know how I would have answered that question before all this began? I'd have said it didn't matter. That it was irrelevant what I believed." She gave a soft snort of laughter. "I suppose it was back then. I never had any reason to worry about or question His existence."

"And now?"

"Now?" She lowered her head and stared at her hands in her lap. "I… I guess I still don't know." Turning her head to look at him, she asked, "So do you believe what the Chantry teaches about the afterlife? That we pass through the Fade on the way to the Maker's side?"

Again the bottle froze in its ascent to his lips. "These are rather existential questions to be considering tonight, don't you think?" At her indifferent shrug and flat stare, he went on with a sigh. "I… suppose that I do." She gave a loud sigh at that, but didn't say anything. "And you?"

She brought her knees up and hugged them to herself, resting her chin at the top of them. "The souls go  _somewhere_. I just don't know where."

His lips started to curve upward into an amused smile. "You sound rather certain."

She met his gaze briefly before looking away, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I mean… that's just what I think."

There was something odd about her tone in all of this, but Zevran could not quite pinpoint it. He wasn't particularly interested in a philosophical debate at the moment, however, so he let the matter drop.

Elissa leaned back and resumed her examination of the night sky, tilting her chin and resting her head against the rock. The long line of her neck gleamed alabaster in the cold moonlight, and Zevran found himself staring at it, mesmerized. It had been an age since he'd felt a lover's skin underneath his fingertips, his lips… perhaps it was the brandy speaking, but it occurred to Zevran once again how foolish Elissa was to deprive herself of freely offered pleasure.

He took another long drink, licked his lips and then stoppered the bottle. "I think I know what you need."

Her gaze didn't leave the stars. "Oh?"

Setting the bottle aside, Zevran turned so that he could rest his arm atop the large boulder… the better to lean in close. "Indeed. You look so tired, my dear. All this constant walking and fighting… it's exhausting, no?"

Her gaze didn't leave the stars and she gave a deep sigh. "It is indeed."

She seemed to not notice his proximity yet. "My thought is this: We retire to my tent and I show you the sort of massage skills that one only learns growing up in an Antivan whorehouse."

Still she didn't look at him—she just lifted her eyebrows at the stars. "A massage?" She asked, lips turned down into a thoughtful frown. "Massage is an effective treatment for sore muscles..."

Did she really not understand him or was she being coy? "Indeed it is! I would be most happy to demonstrate my acumen for your benefit. But let me ask you this… if the opportunity to proceed past the massage should present itself…?"

Elissa yawned, mouth stretching wide and eyes squeezed shut. "What would it proceed to?" Her face scrunched up with thought. "Acupuncture?"

Reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair away from Elissa's forehead, he spoke in a low murmur. "Little dove, sometimes I think that you understand more innuendo than you let on."

Her gaze snapped to his, and he was pleased that he had at last gained her attention. After a moment, she looked away and sat up a little straighter. "Well, maybe," she said, picking at some invisible lint at her knee. "And sometimes I think your command of Common is much better than you let on."

He coughed, trying to stifle a laugh. "Ahh, you may have me there." He fell silent as he tried to pick out his next words and found the task a bit harder than he'd have expected. It was uncomfortable sitting with his hand draped over the boulder, but just then he couldn't think of anything else to do with his arm-the awkwardness was entirely unfamiliar and unwelcome. He cleared his throat. "Well, then, let me speak plainly. Let me distract you from your worries by bringing your beautiful body the pleasure it so richly deserves."

She sat up straight suddenly. "You're serious?" Her gaze strayed to the corner of the cave where Alistair had pitched his tent.

Zevran followed her gaze and then nodded. "Do not worry,  _bella_. No one need hear of this if we do not wish them to. I know how to be discreet."

Her eyes were wide as she met his gaze again, and her mouth had fallen open. "I…  _oh._ "

The syllable's tone could have been interpreted as surprise or desire, or if he was very lucky, both. Encouraged that she didn't immediately dismiss the idea, he soldiered on. Giving her his best smoldering look, he pushed off against the rock so that he could bring his face closer to Elissa's. "Trust me," he said, in a voice as smooth and rich as heavy cream. "You won't be disappointed with any of the techniques I've picked up over the years… I am quite skilled with my hands, my darling." And then, because it was Elissa and he wanted to be clear, he added, "And I'm not just talking about massage."

Even in the wan light he could see the furious blush his tone and words had elicited, and it shot a thrill of desire through him. The offer had been a long shot, of course—he knew that. But now he rather hoped it succeeded…

As she searched his face he felt a flutter in his chest… was she honestly considering his offer?

After a few heartbeats she shook her head. "I… I can't risk it, I'm sorry. I've already hurt him enough. I won't make the same mistake again." He didn't need to ask who she was referring to. "I'm sorry. I can't."

He felt a pang of disappointment. A minor pang—nothing he wasn't used to, of course. Nothing to get worked up over. That she seemed genuinely rueful was lovely, though completely unnecessary. He shrugged. "As you wish, my dear. I only hate to see you so… distracted by your worries." He started to rise. "I'll leave you alone—"

Elissa grabbed his arm to stop him. "Wait!" The word bounced off the walls of the cavern, echoing throughout the enclosed space. She cringed at the noise and then snatched her hand away.

He stilled himself and looked at her expectantly. "Yes?"

"I… I just…" Twisting her hands together, she struggled to come up with the words to say whatever it was she was trying to express.

He felt a twinge of irritation as she floundered—the urge to flee her presence was both peculiar and strong. He forced his tone to be neutral. "You needn't explain, Elissa. It is not an issue—."

"I just don't want to be alone." She spit the words out so quickly it took Zevran a couple of seconds to understand what she'd said.

 _That's why I offered my tent…_  He felt a mix of frustration and sympathy as he stared at Elissa's anxious face. "I…"

"You're exhausted and need sleep," she said, before he could formulate a response. "Never mind. It's alright. Good night."

She huddled into herself, folding her arms and tucking her chin into her chest.

The bottle of brandy in his fist was hard and unyielding, and his hand ached from squeezing it as he sat there, poised between leaning back against the rock and leaping to his feet. After a moment that stretched on into what felt like an eternity, he gave a deep sigh. What would it cost him, really? He settled himself back down beside her. "Very well," he whispered. "I'll stay."

He didn't meet her eye when her head snapped up at that—instead, he lay his head back and stared up at the stars above them. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her relax and mirror his position.

"Thanks," she said in a voice just above a whisper.

"It is no hardship. The sky is beautiful tonight, no?"

She made a noise of agreement and then the two of them lapsed into silence. He wondered if he shouldn't think of some topic of conversation, but as the moments stretched on breaking the stillness of the night with a word felt unnecessary. He was content to pick out constellations and listen to the quiet noises of the forest.

He wasn't sure how long it had been when his eyes started to close. The steady, rhythmic breathing coming from Elissa had a soothing and soporific effect, and he knew he'd join her in the Fade before too long if he didn't get up and go to his tent—his brand new tent, into which he'd been so looking forward to crawl after a long day and night of constant action and adventure.

But he didn't get up for some reason, though his brand new tent called to him. He was comfortable, he told himself, and the brandy had settled into his muscles and made him drowsy. Just before drifting off he told himself that he would surely regret this in the morning… his back would be in knots… but it was too late. His tent would remain empty that night as he slept side-by-side with Elissa, underneath the twinkling of uncaring constellations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: Thanks to Easternviolet for her thoughtful comments to help make this chapter better. 
> 
> In this chapter, I take some liberties with distances and travel times to fit the story.


	53. Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solona wrestles with her conscience some more...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Easternviolet for providing such wonderful feedback to make this chapter better. And thanks to all of you for reading along, and especially reviewing.

_I will not run from bad things I've done_  
T _hey're things I'll try not to repeat  
_ — _The Church of What's Happening Now,_  Sia

The days since Solona's conversation with Aurelian in the Fade were so busy that it was easy to dismiss it all as an unpleasant dream. She told herself that Aurelian wouldn't be able to find Alistair so easily… especially without her help. She had to stop visiting the Tevinter magister's little gazebo—she couldn't afford to give him what he wanted—but now that she'd seen his true nature, she had no desire to talk to him, anyway.

Aurelian had been using her. For all that he'd supposedly 'helped' her, it wasn't until Alistair's bloodline was revealed that he decided to move the sky and earth to help her. Where was all this effort when she'd wanted to leave before?

Even days later, thinking of her conversation with Aurelian still brought chills to her spine.

" _To think, all this time there was another option right under my nose!"_

_The sunlight streaming through the slats of the gazebo roof was warm and bright, but Solona shivered as she watched Aurelian pacing back and forth beneath it. The magister was rubbing his hands together in delight and muttering to himself._

What have I gotten myself into now? " _Uh… Aurelian, what the fuck are you on about?"_

 _He halted and turned to look at her, the light of some maniacal fire burning in his amber eyes. "Blood, darling._ His  _blood." At Solona's alarmed and confused face, he held up his hands. "You needn't worry. I've no plans to kill the man." He stepped toward her, fixing his intense gaze on her. "But you simply must bring Alistair to Tevinter. At once."_

 _Her heart pounded in her chest and her hands went slick with sweat._ Stop it,  _she told herself. It was Aurelian… her friend. Why was she suddenly so terrified? "Why do I need to do that?"_

_His lips spread into a thin smile she thought was intended to appear patient. The tremor in his voice gave him away, however. "As it turns out, the Calenhad bloodline that rules your backwater little country has a rather fascinating history." Putting his hands in a pedagogical pose behind his back, he went on. "I'm sure you're familiar with the story of your King Calenhad, and his bloody path to glory and power. What you don't know is that it was not the strength of Calenhad's sword arm that propelled him to greatness. Your king learned a great secret, and with it bargained for power from a witch. She took him to where a Great Dragon lay dying and allowed him to drink the beast's blood."_

_It sounded like bullshit—a fairy tale told to children. But Solona could tell by his expression that he believed it wholeheartedly, and she'd never met anyone in the Fade or out who knew as many forbidden secrets as Aurelian. "No shit? So what does that do?"_

_He arched an eyebrow. "There is tremendous power in the blood of a Great Dragon. Power that has remained in the Theirin bloodline for centuries. Power that I was worried had died out completely." He took a step toward her, his posture and countenance turned menacing and predatory. "Power that I need to harness—power that I_ must  _harness."_

_He stood a mere foot from her, and he was tall enough that she was in the uncommon position of having to look up to see him. She couldn't think of a single word to say in response to the naked hunger on his face._

_At her speechlessness, his gaze turned sly. "Power that will be available to you too, should you succeed in bringing Alistair to Tevinter." She said nothing, and Aurelian went on, placing his hands gently on her shoulders. "Come to Tevinter and I will make you a magister… you'll have lands, riches, influence… power. You'll have a life you could only dream about in Ferelden. I could give you everything."_

_They'd been over this before, so it shouldn't have tempted her, and if she were a better person, maybe it wouldn't have. But, there was a part of her that yearned for that kind of freedom… maybe even that kind of power. Still… she was not a monster, and Alistair was her friend. "What will happen to him?"_

_Aurelian's cheek twitched, and she could tell he was annoyed by her question. He took his hands off her shoulders and stepped back, waving them. "He'll come to no great harm!" At Solona's doubtful expression he sighed. "What he'll lack in freedom will be more than made up for in happiness. I will ensure that his days are spent in an in an ideal reality—you know that I could create a world for him where he would want for nothing."_

_As she stared up at the tall, handsome man in front of her, Solona wondered how she didn't see the truth sooner. Aurelian saw nothing wrong with owning slaves… he viewed anyone who wasn't 'special' like the two of them as being beneath him and worthy of scorn. Why should she be surprised that he wouldn't blink at the idea of using another person as some kind of enthralled blood slave? "But it wouldn't be real."_

" _What is reality anyway? You should know better than anyone that it's a fleeting, amorphous concept. And what is so wonderful about reality that men should choose it over their own happiness?" Solona frowned and was about to argue when Aurelian cut her off. "Let me ask you this, is Alistair happy now, in the real world?"_

_He wasn't, but Solona wasn't about to tell Aurelian that-there was no way she could do this to Alistair. Even if she wanted to, she could hardly skip the country on a whim. "How am I supposed to get him to Tevinter anyway? Did you forget the fact that we're in the middle of an actual Blight? Who'll be left to fight the darkspawn if I take Alistair?"_

" _You said Elissa now knows how to Join more Wardens… leave the Blight to her. I'm sure she'd be quite capable enough to handle this whole business on her own."_

_She shook her head back and forth, annoyed at the feeling in her gut that was pulled toward Aurelian's offer. But nothing had really changed, had it? "I told you, I can't leave. What'll happen to Jowan if I do?"_

_Aurelian gave her a wide smile. "You needn't leave him behind! I am sure that I can arrange to have your friend brought to Tevinter as well."_

_Solona's gaze hardened as she stared up at him. He was lying_ — _she was sure of it. It was all too good to be true, wasn't it? Something had been stripped away from Aurelian's mask of polite and caring civility, and she saw him as he was: selfish, power hungry, and uncaring about anyone but himself_. Just like Neria.

_The sunken feeling in her chest was familiar and awful. She whirled around and took a few steps away, coming to rest with her hands on the gazebo railing. "I… I'm not going to do that. Alistair and Elissa trust me. We're… we're friends, and I'm going to become a Warden." Turning back to face him, she jutted out her chin in defiance. "I won't do this for you."_

_From another perspective, watching the progression of emotions flicker over Aurelian's features might have been kind of funny—there was confusion, at first, and then a dumbfounded surprise that she doubted he experienced very often. At last he landed on an icy sort of anger. "Very well. You've left me no choice."_

_He reached for her, but Solona was expecting it and managed to dart to the side and slide out from under his hand just in time._

With a jolt of magic she had escaped the Fade and jerked awake, her frantic breathing filling the darkened tent with sudden noise. She had wondered just what Aurelian had been about to do. She thought herself immune to the tricks of other dreamers, but he'd been about to grab her, and every instinct in her mind had screamed for her to flee.

It had occurred to her that Aurelian might just try to seek Alistair out on his own in the Fade—perhaps there was a way to get to other people's dreams through someone they knew? Perhaps that's what he'd been about to do...

Solona resolved to watch Alistair closely over the next few days to see if his behavior changed at all. She and the others had returned from Soldier's Peak and the entire party was thrust into preparing for their little clandestine mission in the arl's estate. Everyone was preoccupied with work, but as far as she could tell, Alistair's mind was his own—or as much as it could be after getting his heart stomped on by Elissa. He wasn't exactly acting like himself right now, but he seemed rather consumed with his own misery, rather than about to flee to Aurelian's side.

She tried bugging him about learning the litany a few times but he had brushed her off until at last she'd snapped at him that Howe's pet blood mage might take advantage of his failure. That got through to him—later that same day, she saw him reading over the old scroll with the litany.  _Finally_.

Hopefully he wouldn't even need it, if they were lucky.

* * *

"About what happened last night…"

Solona looked up from where she was shoving her supplies into her pack—there was an odd note in Elissa's tone that sparked her curiosity. The others were all gathered around, doing the same as her. They were about to set off deeper into the Brecilian forest after their first night of camping in the open-air cave.

Everyone paused to stare at Elissa, who stood in the center of their impromptu circle. She took a deep breath and glanced at Alistair, who avoided returning her gaze at all, and then Zevran, who offered her a tight smile that Solona wasn't quite sure how to read. As Elissa's gaze flitted over the rest of her companions, Solona's brows pulled together in a frown.

Elissa looked disheveled. Her usually perfectly-coiffed hair hung in a ragged braid over her shoulder, and her rumpled clothes were covered with dirt she hadn't bothered to brush off. Whereas the rest of them had washed up this morning in the little trickle of a waterfall at the back of the cave, Elissa must've skipped it, since she still had streaks of dirt on her face and neck. The lack of self-care coupled with the deep circles under Elissa's eyes made Solona uneasy—what was going on with their normally put-together leader?

Once she was sure she had all of their attention, Elissa continued. "It was no accident that Darrian was left behind in the arl's dungeon. That was the plan all along."

 _So that's what happened._ She'd overheard Alistair and Elissa talking a little but was so focused on casting her ice spells that she'd tuned them out, and later she had so much else on her mind she had forgotten to ask.

"What do you mean?" Wynne asked.

Elissa rubbed her hand over her hair and closed her eyes for a breath before opening them. "I… exaggerated my ability with poisons in order to get Darrian to trust me so that I could steal the antidote from him after he was rewarded with it. I do not have the skill to replicate another dose of the antidote." Her eyes were darting to and fro as if she couldn't decide which one of them to look at. "The plan was to get him the reward and then steal it out from under his nose."

A gasp came from her right, and Solona wasn't sure if it was from Wynne or Leliana—the Circle mage had her hand over her mouth, while Leliana's lips were drawn into a thin line, and her arms were crossed over her chest.

"I apologize for the deception. I deemed it necessary to ensure the success of the plan."

Sten didn't seem too ruffled by the whole thing either way. " _Basara_ , let us move on. This entire endeavor has been a distraction—"

"How could you leave Darrian in that place, Elissa?" Leliana's voice was sharp and cut through even the qunari's loud rumble.

Elissa seemed to wilt under Leliana's scrutiny until she gave a hard blink and squared her shoulders. "That… was an unfortunate necessity. I couldn't risk leaving him free in the city to pursue us, as I'm sure he would have felt compelled to do."

Solona didn't think the argument was making too much of a dent in the others' opinion, but they seemed still too in shock to react. "That's why you were so bent on dismantling that little fire cell operation, right?" she asked.

Elissa found Solona's gaze and stared, lips parted in brief surprise. "Indeed," she said, nodding at Solona before her face turned grim again. "I realize this decision may not sit well with all of you." Leliana, Wynne and Alistair all stiffened at that, but before any of them could argue, Elissa went on. "That's fine. You are not required to approve of my decisions. You are only required to respect them and follow my orders."

Solona's eyebrows shot up and she looked around to see how Elissa's cool command was received by the others. They seemed too taken aback to respond.

"Lest you forget, we're in the middle of a Blight, and we are Grey Wardens. It is our responsibility… our  _duty_  to make the decisions and sacrifices no one else is willing to make." She looked around at each of them in turn, seeming more confident in her argument now. "And that is what I did here. I made the decision to sacrifice one man's freedom." Her throat worked as she seemed to take a hard swallow. "Maybe even his life. I chose to save the life of another man—a man more important to our cause." She grimaced and stared unfocused at something in the middle distance. "It was not a decision I enjoyed making, but I made it because it was necessary, and I will not apologize for  _that_. This is no time for sentimentality. We may be called upon again to make such tough decisions." She paused, seeming to hold her breath for a second. "If any of you have a problem with that, you are free to leave right now."

Feeling her eyes go wide at Elissa's ultimatum, Solona's gaze darted around the other companions to gauge their reaction again. Wynne's face was still furrowed into a frown, but the angry line of her mouth had softened a little. Leliana regarded Elissa out of the corner of her eye, while Sten's expressionless stare almost seemed almost vacant. Alistair was still scowling at the earth with his arms crossed over his chest. Only Zevran's expression seemed perfectly serene.

None of them made any move to leave, but Solona could see that the varying degrees of anger might prove messy.

And for some reason, it bugged her. Who were they to judge? Maybe it wasn't the nicest thing in the world to do… but sometimes when a person was forced into an impossible situation, they had to resort to not-nice means. Was it the right thing to do? Solona had no idea. She was just glad it wasn't her that had to make the decision. She didn't know what the fuck she'd have done if it were up to her— _Maker's tits,_ how long had it taken her to decide to trust these people and become a Warden, anyway?

And she  _had_  decided, she realized—something felt final about that internal proclamation as she stared at Elissa's rigid posture. The kid—and she was just a kid ( _Is she even twenty?_ ) had come a long way from the bug-eyed and fearful creature Solona had met outside the Tower of Ishaal. When they'd met, Elissa was just a snooty voice and a one-trick pony who could barely defend herself—but even then, the young noblewoman had been unwavering in the face of what she suspected was an impossible-to-win fight. Solona had never seen Elissa balk at doing whatever it took to defeat the Blight, and she'd been steadfast in her devotion to her duty.

Steadfast, but not ruthless—at least, not before this. It had been Elissa who had dismissed the idea that Solona might have to die for changing her mind about becoming a Grey Warden. In fact, Elissa had come through for her before that, too. Yes, Solona had to promise Elissa a favor to save her friend Jowan, but it wasn't like Elissa had been bent on killing him, either. She'd acquiesced to Solona's pleading to convince the insufferable arlessa to let Jowan out of the dungeons and into a more comfortable room in the castle. There had been no advantage in that for Elissa.

She was brusque and often tactless and had a terrible propensity to deny her obvious emotions… but Elissa wasn't a bad person. Solona had plenty of experience with bad people, she realized, the taste in her mouth gone bitter. Bad people who lied sweetly and told her everything she wanted to hear all the while not caring one whit what she really desired or needed.  _First Neria… then Aurelian…_

If she had to choose, she'd take someone who spoke bluntly but meant well, rather than someone who spoke smoothly and meant her ill.

"Well, shit, Princess," Solona said, forcing a note of humor into her tone. "That was one hell of a plan. I'm impressed."

Elissa looked at her like she'd grown a second head at first, but then a smile tugged at her lips. "I… thank you," she said.

The others didn't look nearly as convinced, but no one said anything and it was clear to Solona that they didn't have the heart or guts to stage a mutiny just yet. They would hold their nose and follow her, perhaps griping along the way.

Solona let out the breath she'd been holding when Elissa nodded at last. "Alright. Let's break camp and get moving. I've no idea if we'll need to face Howe's soldiers today."

They had no clear destination, just a general desire to get farther away from the city and any possible pursuit, so they set out in a southeasterly direction, hiking deeper into the woods.

The day was warm and sunny and Solona felt energized by her renewed commitment to the Wardens. Perhaps… perhaps she should even tell Elissa about Aurelian? She could explain how he had helped her when no one else would—how she hadn't understood, at first, that he was so evil. It was tempting, but not enough to overcome the sick feeling of guilt she felt whenever she thought about just how much she'd divulged to Aurelian about not just Alistair, but Elissa as well. Having finally and completely made the decision to become a Warden, Solona found herself reluctant to do anything that might jeopardize her new role.

Besides, wouldn't it be better to just put it all behind her? To at last let go of all that guilt and doubt and just… move on? That idea was far more appealing than having any sort of heart-to-heart confessional with Elissa, and once she made the decision she found her footsteps light and a smile easy to wear, in spite of the black mood of most of her companions.

* * *

The little wisp of light flared to life, illuminating the inside of Solona and Leliana's tent. "Home sweet home," Solona said with a grin as she unrolled her bedroll.

Leliana didn't say anything as she smoothed a hand over her own bedroll. She'd seemed preoccupied and troubled all day. Solona figured she knew the cause, but they hadn't really had a moment to discuss it until now. With a sigh, she flopped down and crossed her legs, resting her elbows on her knees. "So let's hear it. What's troubling you?"

The blanket was about as flat and unwrinkled as it could get, but Leliana still smoothed her hand over it, wearing a thoughtful frown. "I guess I'm just confused. I just don't understand what has gotten into Elissa the last few days. First that night in the city… and now this thing with Darrian… it's not like her." She shot a puzzled glance at Solona. "Has she said anything to you? Anything at all that might explain this?"

Solona's eyebrows climbed her forehead—she'd expected an angry diatribe about Elissa's decision, not this obvious concern. But that was Leliana, wasn't it? Always looking for the best in others… always open to the possibility of redemption. It filled her chest with sudden warmth to realize she was traveling with someone so kind-hearted.

To Solona, the answer to Leliana's question was a bit obvious. "Well, she's been keeping this secret about Darrian and the antidote this whole time… I imagine that had to weigh on her quite a bit."

"That's just it… we've been planning this whole thing together. Why did she feel the need to keep it secret from  _me_?"

Leliana was frowning down at her hands and blinking, and it made something ache in Solona's chest to see her hurt expression. "Hey, don't take it personally. She probably just thought you'd try to talk her out of it."

"You heard her—it had to be done. I'm not so childish as to throw a temper tantrum when I don't get my way. And Elissa knows I can be discreet." Leliana shook her head, still staring thoughtfully at her hands. "No, she still should have told me. The fact that she didn't… it feels… personal."

There was a rather obvious reason for that, Solona thought, but she was loathe to bring it up. She hated prying, for one thing, and for another… she wasn't really sure she wanted her suspicions confirmed.

But looking at Leliana's troubled expression made something in her gut twist. "I guess… I guess she probably thinks that you'll take Alistair's side in all this."

Leliana's delicately arched eyebrows rose in surprise. "Alistair's side? Why would she think that?"

The air in the tent was insufferably warm. Solona wiped the sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand. "Well… you have been spending a lot of time with him lately..." She trailed off...

"Yes, but you know why…" Leliana's gaze snapped to Solona's. "Wait a minute… are you saying what I think you're saying? Do you think Elissa…" Her eyes went wide and she blinked several times. "She doesn't think Alistair and I are… Elissa isn't  _jealous_ is she?"

The fact that Leliana seemed so shocked at the idea was encouraging, but at the same time, Solona wasn't quite sure how to answer the question… "Well, I mean… maybe? She's made a few comments that could perhaps be interpreted as jealousy."

Leliana's frown deepened with confusion. "And you told her such fear was ridiculous, did you not?"

"Er…" She rubbed the back of her neck and looked away. "No?"

When she turned back to look, Leliana was staring at her with her mouth hanging open. "Why… Solona why didn't you reassure her? Why didn't you tell her that wasn't true?"

 _Fuck me._ She'd really gone and done it now, hadn't she? Why had she even brought up Alistair?  _Maker_ , this was not how she'd wanted this conversation to go.

"Because..." Solona hesitated, feeling impossibly trapped. She couldn't think of any way to get out of this besides telling the truth. Her head bent and she stared at her hands in her lap. Picking off an invisible piece of lint, she mumbled under her breath, "I didn't know it wasn't true."

" _What?_ " Leliana's reply bordered on screeching. "You thought… what? I just laid in wait for something to happen between Elissa and Alistair so I could swoop in afterward and steal him away? How could you think that of me?"

 _Shit._ How was it possible for Solona to get into so much trouble by doing absolutely nothing? "Well, when you put it like that it does sound pretty stupid…"

"Stupid? It's… it's nonsensical. This was all your idea!"

"Wait, what?" Solona's head snapped up to look at Leliana. "What was my idea?"

Leliana gave an exasperated sigh. "You know… like we said: you get Elissa and I get Alistair."

That made even less sense and Solona's face must have revealed her confusion. "I… have no idea what the fuck you're talking about."

Leliana blinked. "What do you mean you don't know? We talked about this! Don't you remember? You said the two of them were doomed. I said I wasn't so sure, but we both agreed that if they imploded— _your words_ —then you would handle Elissa and I'd help Alistair. You… you truly don't remember?"

 _Wait a minute._ She vaguely recalled the conversation, but she hadn't been listening all that attentively. She tended to get distracted when Leliana went on and on about the Wardens—her interest in their relationship had made Solona a little uncomfortable. For one, she hated gossip with a passion that came from spending twenty-five years cooped up in a Tower where everyone knew everybody else's business. Secondly, there was a part of her that had wondered at the time if there wasn't something more behind Leliana's obsession with the Wardens' relationship.

 _Fuck._ Solona coughed into her hand. "I… well, yeah, I guess I just… forgot."

"You forgot?" Leliana had gone very still, those bright blue eyes sharpening as they gazed at Solona. "So you haven't been talking to Elissa about all this?"

Truth be told, Solona hadn't been paying much attention to Elissa over the last few days. The Warden had been preoccupied with planning the heist at the arl's party and Solona had been too concerned about watching Alistair to worry about her. But now, after listening to Leliana and thinking about how Elissa had appeared that morning, it occurred to her that she  _should_  have been worried.

"Well, I tried," Solona said, trying not to sound defensive, but feeling like a shit-heel. She knew she'd been fucking up over the last few days—the whole thing with Aurelian and Alistair still made her burn with shame at the memory—but she hadn't realized quite how much of a shitty friend she was being. "I swear! But she wasn't interested in saying much."

"And? What did she say? Tell me everything."

In spite of Leliana's scary commanding tone, Solona hesitated, biting her bottom lip. The one time she had bothered to talk to Elissa about anything not related to the arl's party, the young noblewoman had confessed her feelings for Alistair and then swore Solona to secrecy.

It had seemed like no big deal at the time—Solona wasn't about to run around gossiping about the Wardens' love life, deal or no deal—but now, it made things even dicier.

"I… can't." At Leliana's angry scowl she rushed to go on. "Look, I would tell you but… Elissa wouldn't like it. She told me those things in confidence. I… I don't want to betray her trust."

That seemed to placate Leliana a little. She let out a frustrated sigh. "No wonder Elissa's been acting so insane lately. She must feel so alone… so perfectly friendless, the poor dear!"

Solona wasn't so sure. "Hey, look, I could be wrong... I don't know for sure that she thinks that. This is Elissa we're talking about here—she doesn't strike me as the crazy jealous type. Don't… don't leap to conclusions."

Leliana's gaze narrowed as she returned it to Solona's. "Oh, right. I wouldn't want to do that. That is apparently  _your_ job."

The guilt from all of her recent foibles was starting to feel overwhelming.  _Fuck. Shit. Damn._ "Shit, I'm sorry! I'm sorry, alright? Look, I'll talk to her—"

Leliana's short red hair swished back and forth from how hard she shook her head. "No. She needs to hear it from me. I'll talk to her." Her face softened and she spoke quietly, almost to herself. "I should've paid more attention. Maybe I can talk some sense into her." Taking a deep breath, she got to her feet and turned to go, before pausing and glancing down at Solona. "You go talk to Alistair and straighten this out. He could probably use a tougher hand right now anyway." Her gaze hardened and she added, "You and I will discuss your assumptions about me later."

The tent flaps closed with a whisper of fabric and then Leliana was gone and Solona was left sitting there gaping. "What the fuck am I supposed to say to him?" she asked, to no one in particular.

She supposed she could just… yell at him a bit. Actually, now that she thought of it, telling the ex-Templar to get his head out of his ass sounded like the perfect activity for her right about now.

Exiting the tent with her heart in her throat, she looked around for the the ex-Templar whose presence in her life had caused her  _so_  much trouble. It wasn't fair to take out her frustrations with herself upon him… but you know what? Life was rather spectacularly fucking unfair for her, so what the fuck did she care?

At first, she marched around the campsite looking for him, not having any idea at all what she might say. As the minutes went on, though, it came to her that Leliana was expecting her to not just do something, but also to somehow  _fix_  all this.

Just yelling at Alistair might not be the best tactic.

At last she found him. The sun hadn't set yet, and he was a couple hundred feet from camp, hacking at a tree for firewood. He had his shirt off and his naked chest was slick with sweat from working in the hot and humid forest. She supposed it was an impressive sight for someone into that kind of thing. It brought to her mind the time he'd walked back into camp from a bath, naked from the waist up. Poor Elissa had been so hot and bothered she'd knocked over a half-dozen potions at the sight of him, Solona remembered with a chuckle. She and Leliana had giggled behind their hands at that…

Leliana had gazed with some appreciation, too, Solona recalled with a familiar pang of jealousy. But then she was brought up short by the thought-in spite of everything else, she had learned an encouraging fact: Alistair and Leliana were just friends. Her worry that Leliana had fallen for Alistair had been a stupid paranoid invention brought on by not just Elissa's jealousy, but her own. But it wasn't true.

A slow smile spread over her face as the truth of that statement sunk in at last.  _At least I'll die in a good mood,_  she thought, as she walked up behind Alistair. No matter how much trouble she was in, that one simple buoyant fact kept her moving forward.

_There's nothing going on with Alistair and Leliana._

She cleared her throat. "Hey, Golden Boy, listen up. We need to talk."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PS. Sorry to any Alistair/Solona shippers!
> 
> As for the main story's ship... I warned you all it would be rocky ;) I promise it won't be pure angst from here on out though, so bear with me for a bit if that's not your thing. Still, this story can definitely be categorized as a romance and so relationships will remain a focus for remainder of the story. There are more plot twists and revelations in store, however, so don't think that part of the story is going away anytime soon.
> 
> Again, thanks to you all for reading. Your feedback means so much to me!


	54. Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leliana confronts Elissa. The conversation doesn't go as either of them expects.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took so long... it was a little difficult to write. I hope to get back on track after this, and update more frequently in the month of June. As always, thank you so much for your support. Feel free to follow me on tumblr at thinkdragonage. Note: this chapter references the Warden's Keep DLC.
> 
> To catch us up since it's been awhile... previously, in Poison and Wine:
> 
> Elissa learned the secret of how to slay the Archdemon from Avernus, which caused her to break up with Alistair almost immediately. They managed to steal the antidote from Howe, but Elissa left Darrian behind in the arl's dungeon to pull that off. Morrigan was sent to Redcliffe with the antidote, while the party escaped into the Brecilian Forest in an effort to shake off any pursuit.
> 
> Solona let slip to Aurelian that Alistair was Maric's son, which led to her cutting off communication with the magister. She also let slip to Leliana that she and Elissa made some assumptions about Leliana and Alistair, and Leliana took off, determined to find Elissa and set things straight.
> 
> PS. Yes, that's a Taylor Swift lyric to start this chapter off. What can I say? It fits.

 

_Now we got problems_  
_And I don't think we can solve them_  
_You made a really deep cut_  
_And baby now we got bad blood  
_ — _Bad Blood,_ Taylor Swift

As Elissa sat alone in the stuffy tent with her legs crossed beneath her and her head bent over the pieces of her crossbow strewn on the bedroll, she couldn't help but feel somewhat grateful for both the solitude and the silence of her present circumstances.

Not that she had heard much today beyond the myriad noises of a forest in summer time. Her companions—every one of them bearing at least some level of animosity toward her—hadn't felt much like conversing, at least not with her. In truth, whether they were merely reticent, or this was a form of the so-called "silent treatment," Elissa couldn't say. Nor did she much care. If it was a punishment it had missed the mark by a wide margin.

She would far rather travel in silence than listen to whatever any of them might have to say to her. Not having to talk made it easier to keep her emotions at bay. Those traitorous reactions had lived just beneath her skin of late, threatening to leak out at the barest provocation, and she was beyond tired from the energy required to hold them all in. The day of silence gave her time to collect her thoughts and gather her resolve, without expending effort to keep up appearances for those around her.

Her tongue stuck out of the corner of her mouth as she concentrated on trying to unscrew a rusty bolt that refused to budge. She held her breath as she put all of her strength into it, feeling the sharp corners of the unyielding metal dig into her fingers. After a few futile seconds the sharp ache became intolerable and she gave up, throwing the wooden piece down with a wordless growl of frustration.

She was fine with the lack of companionship.  _Better than fine—it's perfect._  While it had been interesting for a time to let her guard down and allow herself more familiar relationships with her companions, now that she'd decided it was her first priority above all else to hurl herself at the archdemon in order to save Alistair, it was better to keep her distance. Like Zevran said—she had a formidable task in front of her. She needed to be able to do it without being constrained by worry over what any of them might think of her—not just Alistair.

 _And anyway, this way they won't miss me so much when I'm gone._ Really, if they only knew, they'd probably thank her.

 _No, they wouldn't,_ a stern but faint voice spoke from the back of her mind. She shook her head, unhappy with where her thoughts were taking her.

"I just need to get this damn chamber open," she said aloud, determined to refocus her mind on something less fraught with perilous emotion.

Fortunately, she had a ready topic. The day-long silence held more tangible benefits than mere peace of mind. Without being subjected to her companions' constant babbling, she'd been able to focus on more significant questions. As they hiked through the forest she finally came up with the solution to a design problem she'd been puzzling over for some time: how to add another ammunition chamber to her crossbow. It had been agony waiting until it was time to stop for the night for the chance to see if her solution would work.

Her fingers hurt and when she held up her hands in front of her she saw that her right forefinger was bleeding. Instinctively she started to bring her hand to her mouth but then something stopped her. The blood on her finger looked so… dark.  _Is that just a trick of the light?_ The taint in her blood was positively humming. It almost felt as if… as if she could sense her own tainted blood as some kind of separate entity.  _Which makes no sense at all._

A sound outside the tent was her first warning, and then the tent flaps rustled, followed with, "Elissa? May I come in?"

 _Leliana_. Of course it was too much to hope that she might be left alone forever. "You may enter," she said as she grabbed her satchel and reached inside it to find a clean handkerchief to wrap around her finger.

The tent flaps parted and Leliana slipped inside, looking around the tent before her gaze settled on the assorted items on the bedroll. She cocked her head to the side and smiled. "Keeping busy, I see."

"Of course," Elissa said as she sorted through the wooden and metal parts with her free hand. "I'm actually in the middle of something." She looked up at Leliana with a slight frown. "What can I do for you?"

Leliana's expression didn't flicker. Smiling serenely, she nodded. "I was hoping that the two of us might speak. Alone."

Clenching her jaw together, Elissa picked up the wooden chamber piece again. "Well, we're alone," she said, as she renewed her effort to twist the bolt, using the handkerchief to protect her fingers this time. "Speak."

Leliana didn't say anything for a few seconds, and Elissa found herself hoping that she'd changed her mind, but then she cleared her throat. "You know it's a bit stuffy in here. Why don't we go for a walk? We can check the perimeter while we talk."

Her friendly tone made Elissa's eyes narrow. She had spent all day trying to bore holes into Elissa's skin with those withering glares of hers, and now she was extending this friendly invitation. It made something tighten in her chest.  _What is she playing at?_

She could think of no polite or rational excuse to refuse her request, however, so with a sigh she picked her belt off the tent floor where she'd dropped it earlier. "I suppose this can wait," she said, getting to her feet and then securing her daggers at her hips. She never went anywhere without weapons now—not since that night back in Highever. She gestured toward the tent opening. "Lead on, then."

Elissa and her companions had settled their camp for the night in a small clearing, some hundred feet away from a bubbling brook they'd followed for most of the day. The clouds in the sky were painted dark purples and bright oranges from the setting sun, and the trees cast long dark shadows across their path, but they had enough light yet that they could pick their way around the outer edge of the camp without fear of stumbling.

When they'd completed a quarter-turn in silence, Elissa grew tired of waiting for Leliana to begin. "Well, what did you want to speak to me about?"

The glance Leliana shot her seemed startled, and then she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Elissa got the impression that she was choosing her words carefully.

"Yes, well… first of all… I think I owe you an apology."

Elissa didn't bother hiding her shock. "You want to apologize to me?" Her frown deepened. "Why?"

If Leliana was put off by her suspicious tone she didn't reveal it. "Because, I haven't been as attentive as I should have ever since you got back from the Peak. I should have checked in with you… to see how you were handling everything."

Elissa turned her face away, her scowl deepening. Clearly Leliana had some point she was meandering toward, but felt uncomfortable stating directly. Ordinarily she'd have cut through the pleasantries with a more direct response, but some instinct urged her to hide from whatever intrusive topic Leliana felt she had to tiptoe around.

She smoothed her expression and turned back to Leliana. "I have no idea what you're talking about. We've spent practically every moment together over the last few days, and as far as I'm concerned I'm handling everything just fine—better than fine, in fact." Leliana's eyebrows rose and Elissa shrugged a shoulder. "All of our objectives have been met."

It may have been a trick of the wan light, but something hardened in Leliana's expression. "I see," she said, in a tone that implied she really didn't. "I am glad to hear it." Elissa's hope that this might be the end of the conversation died with her next breath. "There's something else," Leliana said, running her hand through her hair and glancing over at her with a fretful expression. "I'm worried that you may have gotten an… inaccurate impression… of my relationship with Alistair."

 _Oh._ So that was the topic.  _Great._ Ignoring the way her heart pounded in her chest, Elissa brushed her hair out of her eyes and said in as casual a tone as she could muster, "And what impression is that?"

"Well, we've been spending a lot of time together… I am worried that you might think… that you might think we were more than just friends."

"Of course not," she said breezily, turning her gaze to the darkening sky above her and trying to ignore the surge of relief flooding her senses. "Don't be ridiculous."

Leliana made a little noise of surprise, but Elissa didn't meet her gaze, unsure if she could continue to school her expression into such a neutral one if their eyes met. Still, she was proud of how unconcerned she managed to sound, and hoped with all her heart that Leliana bought it and then let the matter drop.  _Maker_ , the very last thing she wanted to discuss with anyone was Alistair.

"I… well that is a relief. I thought you might be upset."

"Not at all," Elissa said, giving a little shrug. "In any case, I've no claim on him any longer. He's free to pursue whatever romantic entanglements he chooses." She hoped the relative darkness might hide the tightness of her smile as she forced herself to turn and look up at Leliana. "If something were to happen between you two, I would wish you both the best." There was something else she was going to say, but it fled her mind as she swallowed the sudden lump in her throat, so she left off with that, and prayed that Leliana would drop the subject.

But the Maker had other ideas.

Leliana's eyebrows rose and her mouth fell open with apparent surprise. A moment later she shook her head, her brows furrowing together. She spoke without looking at Elissa. "That's a very mature attitude. I admit, I'm surprised. I thought you were quite taken with him. I think most people would be at least a little jealous."

"Well, I'm not most people," Elissa said, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. Some impulse made her add, "I've never really been interested in romance." The confession surprised her, and it hung in the air between them for a few moments.

"I see." Leliana's voice held a neutral tone that Elissa couldn't interpret.

"It's true," she went on, not really understanding why she kept talking, but was somehow unable to stop herself. "I never once wanted to fall in…" She cleared her throat. "… to fall into a romance. I have even less reason to want such a thing now. It's a distraction, you know? From our greater purpose."

 _Maker,_ why was she telling Leliana all this? It certainly wasn't required to answer the question, and talking about Alistair made a whole host of dangerous feelings start to bubble up inside her.

Leliana stopped walking and turned toward her, tilting her head to the side. "So that is why you ended things? It was a distraction?"

She stopped too, crossing her arms over her chest. "Yes, well… of course. Besides… we're so different. It never would have worked out in the long run." The sympathetic noise Leliana made in her throat coupled with her softening expression made something in Elissa's chest clench with fear.  _Stop talking about this._ She had to put an end to this line of inquiry, lest she become undone completely by Leliana's kindheartedness. "Did you really come get me just to talk about Alistair?"

Leliana's lips parted slightly and she hesitated before answering. "Well, I just… I wouldn't want a misunderstanding like that to come between us. I want you to know that you can trust me. You can tell me anything. You… you don't need to keep secrets from me, Elissa."

The soft lilt of her voice held no note of accusation and yet Elissa's fingers dug into the sides of her arms as she hugged herself.  _I'm being paranoid_. Leliana didn't know anything. How could she? She willed herself to relax, taking a big breath and then exhaling slowly through her nose.  _Better._

Still… there was clearly more to this conversation than Leliana was letting on. The thought was an anchoring one, and Elissa felt more grounded when she started scrutinizing Leliana in earnest. Placing her hands on her hips, she peered up at the taller woman. "So," she said, drawing out the word as her thoughts coalesced into something resembling a logical theory. "Why are you so attached to the idea of me being jealous?"

Leliana was good—Elissa had to give her credit. Her expression remained almost perfectly serene. If she hadn't been watching for it, even Elissa might've missed the way her eyes widened incrementally for a fraction of a second. "I'm… sure I don't know what you're talking about. I'm not attached to the idea of anything of the kind—"

"No," Elissa cut her off, her voice deep with confidence. It felt good to be on the offensive again. "You favored the theory that I was jealous because you thought it explained something… why would you prefer to believe that?"

She cocked her head to the side as she mentally reviewed their conversation so far, looking for some clue that would point toward Leliana's ulterior motive.  _You can tell me anything_ , Leliana had said just a moment before… that had to mean something.

But of course—she was fishing for the reason Elissa had kept her in the dark.

"You want to know why I didn't tell you about Darrian and the plan to betray him, don't you?" Her eyes went wide with realization. "Wait, that's it, isn't it? You think the reason I didn't tell you is because I was angry and jealous of you and Alistair." Her face contorted into a frown. "Honestly, it's a little insulting that you'd think I'd be so petty."

Leliana's smile appeared wooden for a few seconds, before she surrendered it with a roll of her eyes. Her voice changed into a deeper and more candid tone. "Yes, well, can you blame me for looking for an explanation? There must be some reason for the change in you." Her eyes narrowed. "You haven't been yourself ever since you got back from the Peak."

The accusation sent ice shooting through Elissa's veins. "How do you know? You haven't known me very long." Her voice was too high—it sounded unnatural. She cleared her throat and tried again. "Perhaps this is who I have always been, and you're just now seeing it."  _That's better._

Leliana's eyes went wide, and for a moment Elissa thought she'd convinced her, but then the line between Leliana's eyebrows grew deeper and her eyes narrowed again. "No," she said, her voice thick with accusation. "Before this you were a woman of principle—of honor and integrity. The woman who saved the Circle, who defended Redcliffe, who refused to take a healing potion from someone else even though it might mean her own death—she would have never been capable of doing what you did to Darrian."

In spite of everything, Elissa couldn't help feeling touched by Leliana's speech. "I had no idea you held me in such high regard." It hurt a bit to throw that away, but what could she do? The tightness in her chest faded into a dull ache. "Nevertheless I'm afraid I've no easy explanation for you. I simply did what had to be done, as I said before."

Leliana crossed her arms over her chest. "So it's true, then. The only reason you didn't tell me was because you thought I'd try to talk you out of it."

Elissa stared up at Leliana, unsure whether she should correct Leliana's assumption or not. But perhaps a little bit of truth here would make the rest of it go down easier? At last, she shook her head. "No, that wasn't it." Taking a deep breath, she went on. "I didn't tell you because I was afraid I'd talk  _you_  into it."

If the conversation weren't so tense, Elissa might've enjoyed the surprise that flickered in Leliana's expression. "I… what?"

She shrugged. "Didn't you tell me that you didn't want to be that person anymore? That you were done with that life?" They'd never really spoken of it directly, but Elissa had made some deductions about Leliana's past that she was confident were correct. Leliana hadn't always been a Chantry sister in Lothering after all, and she had to have learned her multitude of useful skills somewhere. "I kept you from having to sully your conscience over this. There was no reason for anyone other than Zevran or I to know about this… no need for anyone else to bear the burden of that guilt."

Leliana bit her bottom lip as she frowned down at Elissa for a few heartbeats. "So you were protecting me? Is that it?"

 _You have no idea,_ Elissa thought. She jutted out her chin. "Indeed. And I was right, wasn't I? Here you are now, more concerned about your professional pride than the fate of a poor, innocent city elf—"

"That is not true," Leliana interrupted, stepping closer. Her cheeks were flushed and there was the unmistakable fire of anger burning in her bright blue eyes. "I do so care about Darrian! More than you, obviously. I wouldn't have treated him like that… you and the arl both—"

"Have a care how you finish that sentence," Elissa spat out the words through tightly clenched teeth. Her hands strayed to the daggers at her hips almost unconsciously. "Everything I did was to serve a higher purpose—defeating the Blight, remember?" She rose up on her toes, bringing her face closer to Leliana's so she could be sure to arrest her gaze. "I am  _nothing_  like him, and you would do well to remember that."

The two of them stood there fuming in silence at each other for the span of several heartbeats, until at last Leliana looked away with a soft snort of breath. Taking a step back, she turned away and brought her hand to her forehead. "I only meant that you both treated Darrian like a pawn." Her hand dropped and she frowned at Elissa. "And if you had confided in me, I might have warned you of the consequences."

"I'm well aware of the consequences. I don't need you to hold my hand—"

"Is that so? Tell me Elissa, how have you been sleeping lately?"

Elissa blinked rapidly. She thought she hid her utter exhaustion well, but it would be foolish to underestimate Leliana's powers of observation. "Like a baby," she lied through her clenched teeth. "What does that have to do with anything?"

Leliana rolled her eyes, not even pretending for a moment that she bought Elissa's lie. "Oh is that so? No images of handsome, wide-eyed elves pleading for their father's lives haunt you every time you close your eyes, then?"

Hugging her arms to her chest, Elissa looked away, scowling silently.

Leliana didn't wait for her to answer. "I would have warned you of that… of the damage you are doing not just to Darrian, but also to yourself—to your conscience…to your  _soul._ "

Elissa closed her eyes and shook her head, knowing that there was simply no way she could explain to Leliana how little either of those two things mattered anymore. Her conscience would be sacrificed like everything else, and as for her soul…  _well_. What did it matter? It would be destroyed along with the archdemon's by the end of all this. Why should she care what state it was in?

When she opened her eyes she saw that Leliana's expression was not unsympathetic.

"You're a brilliant woman, Elissa, but you don't know everything." She gave a weary-sounding sigh. "Did it ever occur to you that I might've been able to come up with a better solution? That I could have helped you plan this in a way that spared Darrian?"

Elissa's face felt hot with shame and traitorous tears started prickling in the corners of her eyes.  _No_. She would not break down again—not in front of Leliana. She blinked them away and then forced herself to meet Leliana's gaze. "Maybe I didn't want him to be spared."

Leliana's eyebrows rose. "What? Why not?"

It felt as if she were teetering upon a steep precipice. Falling one way would lead to an outpouring of shame and guilt too intense for Elissa to bear. She chose the other, easier path. Anger was always safer. Ignoring the bile in her throat, she reached for the rage that always burned inside her. "Did it ever occur to you that if we hadn't seen through that guest list for the ploy it was, Alistair and I would be in the arl's dungeon right now? Burned and in horrible pain begging for death? Darrian betrayed me before I ever did anything to him."

Leliana's mouth fell open. "But he didn't… he was in an impossible situation! You said so yourself… he only wanted to save his father."

"And he made the mistake of being too trusting," Elissa spat out, ignoring the twisting sensation she felt in her stomach. "A mistake that I'll not make ever again."

"And what of Cyrion? Does he not matter at all in your cold blooded calculations? Or is he just another innocent pawn to be discarded?"

Elissa shook her head. "He wouldn't have made it anyway," she said with a sigh. At Leliana's doubtful expression, she shrugged. She was telling the truth. "Ask Wynne if you don't believe me. She examined him and told me his chances of surviving, even with the antidote, were slim to none." Feeling utterly exhausted by the conversation, Elissa rubbed her eyes. "He's not as hale as a pampered nobleman. He's a city elf… that means he's had poor nutrition all his life and thus a more delicate constitution. The poison has already weakened him beyond repair." Her hand dropped to hang at her side. "Probably."

Leliana's frown had turned into a deep scowl. "Your thirst for vengeance has blinded you—" She stopped mid-sentence, and turned her head as if she were listening to something. "Did you hear that?" she whispered.

The sudden change in her demeanor sent goosebumps up and down Elissa's arms. She swallowed with a dry throat, straining to hear whatever it was that drew Leliana's focus.

The forest was still. The two of them stood there in frozen silence for a few heartbeats, and then Elissa heard the unmistakable sound of a twig snapping underneath a foot.

They looked at each other with wide eyes.  _Someone is out there,_ Leliana mouthed and Elissa nodded in response, biting her bottom lip and peering into the darkness.

The clouds shifted and Elissa saw a dark figure standing some forty feet from them, flanked by a couple of trees—her eyes went wide with shock when she recognized the shape of a drawn bow in the person's hands. Had Howe's men caught up with them at last? But the archer was aiming at Leliana, Elissa realized with a jolt.

Time seemed to slow when she heard the  _twang_  of the bow string being plucked. Without stopping to consider the wisdom of it, Elissa called on the power of her tainted blood to put herself between the arrow and Leliana. She wouldn't have been able to intercept it if not for the enhanced abilities that Avernus had provided her with his strange concoction. She darted faster than humanly possible.

Her hand closed over the arrow just before it landed, but she was not quite fast enough to pluck it out of the air as she intended. Pain exploded in her left shoulder as she felt the arrow pierce her flesh and bone.

Leliana screamed as Elissa stumbled backward from the impact.

"Get down," Elissa panted through the pain. They both dropped to the ground.

Leliana crouched, drawing her daggers. "Stay down," she whispered to Elissa as her eyes darted around, looking for the enemy. Her scream had brought the attention of their companions, and the forest came alive with the noise of metal ringing and the crack of magical fire and lightning.

Leliana dashed away and the sound of distant shouting came to Elissa's ears. It barely pierced the fog of her pain however, as she sat trying not to move and jostle the arrow sticking out of her left shoulder. Turning her head was agony, but she gritted her teeth and did it anyway, drawing a loud groan of pain as she examined the wound.

The arrow had almost passed through her.  _Dammit._ Perhaps if she hadn't tried to catch it, it would have. That would have made for an easier injury to treat, but she supposed it was best that it didn't—if it had it might've killed Leliana, and her sacrifice would have been in vain.

 _What was I thinking?_  Shaking her head to clear it of her recriminations, Elissa grasped the arrow shaft with her hand. Could she push the projectile through herself? The slightest pressure caused such pain that her vision went spotty, so she abandoned that idea. She was going to have to wait for help, and hope someone could attend to her after their ambushers had been dealt with.

The pain was so distracting that she didn't notice the figure looming over her until it was too late to move. It was an enormous man—a qunari, she realized, as the last rays of the setting sun illuminated the man's grey skin and white hair. Not the hornless kind like Sten, either. This one had large, curling horns like a ram. His weapon appeared to be a boulder attached to a tree trunk, but that might just have been the blood loss affecting her perspective.

"Stop!" she cried, thrusting out her right hand. "You really don't want to kill me."

She had no real idea of where she was going to go with that thought—she only wanted to buy herself time to think of something. And she would—she  _had_  to. It was her duty to die, but not today.

The qunari didn't appear to care, but then they both seemed to notice at the same time the inky tendrils of smoke that snaked in the air between them, emanating from her blood-covered hand.

The qunari froze, his warmaul poised over his head, waiting to strike. It had to take an enormous amount of strength to wield a weapon like that, Elissa thought numbly, let alone to hold it over his head. But she couldn't blame him from freezing. She felt the taint roiling all around her in the air, and with a horrified gasp she realized its source. It was her… her blood was literally oozing the taint through the air between them.

Either the qunari shared her sensation or he simply followed a quite reasonable impulse at the sight of smoking black blood, but he chose to back away, lowering his weapon and holding up his hand. "What the fuck is wrong with your blood?"

 _The taint…_ it was that potion she drank from Avernus, Elissa knew it in an instant. He had told her that his aim was to weaponize the taint in the Grey Wardens' blood in order to more effectively fight against demons. It had seemed a somewhat reasonable topic of research, or it would have if not for the high cost in human life it had apparently required, but Elissa would have never imbibed the concoction if she hadn't desperately wanted to know the secret behind how to kill the Archdemon. Avernus had made that his condition: as a favor to him, she had to drink the potion and report her experiences back to him.

She had agreed, but the effects hadn't been immediately apparent, much to Avernus' dismay. Until this moment, Elissa had thought her only benefit was her ability to perform inhuman bursts of speed. She would have never guessed that the potion had also made her blood so concentrated with the taint. As she looked around, even in the muted light of evening she could see that the grass around her was wilting and dying from the exposure to her blood.  _I can spread the taint._ From the looks of it, she was just as effective at it as a darkspawn monster.

The qunari must have noticed or felt the threat of her tainted blood, because he stumbled backwards and landed with a thud on the ground. It would be his fatal mistake, Elissa vowed to herself, as she called on the taint in her blood for one last supernatural boost. It would nearly kill her, but she had no choice. As the qunari scrambled away from her, she shifted to a crouch, using her good arm to support herself. The effort made her half groan, half scream with pain, which only served to make the qunari more reckless in his effort to get away from her. He flipped over and was about to gain his feet when his foot slipped on a bulky tree root and he went down hard on one knee, howling with pain and fear.

She was on him in a flash. The taint sang in her veins as she burst forward, deftly drawing her blade with her good hand mid-stride. She landed on his back with such sudden force that it drew a high-pitched squeal of fear from the man that was nearly three times her size. It ended in a gurgle of blood as she quickly and efficiently slid her blade over his throat, silencing the man's screams in one deft motion.

She slid off the corpse and dropped her weapon, falling to the ground on her right side with a cry of pain. The muscles in her left shoulder flamed with pain, and in a few moments Elissa realized that she was still screaming. She bit down on the side of her mouth, drawing blood. The taste of it made her spit it out, and she spent the next few moments retching into the dirt.

She only came back to herself when a pair of dainty, booted feet crossed her vision, and a familiar lilt reached her ears. "It's alright, we've killed them all. You're safe."

A pair of knees replaced the feet, and then her vision was filled by a pretty, pale face pulled into a worried frown.  _Leliana._

The woman spoke, but Elissa couldn't hear the words over the rushing of the blood in her ears. Almost in slow motion, she watched as Leliana extended a hand toward her—she was reaching for the a wound in her shoulder.

Her focus snapped back to the present, and she slapped Leliana's hand away with the quickness of a snake. "Stop! Don't touch me," she hissed.

Leliana's gaze flickered to hers, but she frowned, and reached out again. "Elissa, you're injured."

Leliana was balanced on the balls of her feet as she crouched over Elissa. Thinking quickly, and desperate to get her away, Elissa shoved at Leliana's knee, hard. It took her by surprise, and she couldn't help spilling backward, landing on her rear end. "Elissa!"

"I said, don't touch me," she gasped the words, trying to push herself backward using only her right arm and the ground. It didn't get her very far. "Get Alistair."

Leliana's eyes were wide under angry eyebrows. She made a disgruntled noise. "You need healing! I'll get Solona or Wynne…"

"No!" The word was a ragged scream that made Leliana's mouth snap closed in surprise. "Not Wynne. No one but  _Alistair._  My blood… tainted…"

The effort to talk was sapping all of her strength, and black clouds threatened at the corners of her eyes. She felt herself start to sink underneath the pain and exhaustion.

 _Maker please._ If the Maker could grant her just this one thing, she would never ask for another.  _Please… please don't let me taint them._

Her head fell back into the dirt and she closed her eyes, hoping that Leliana understood and followed her commands, and sensing the taint pulsing in the air around her, beating to the rhythm of her own monstrous heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm taking some liberties with the Power of Blood abilities for the rogue class, as presented in the Warden's Keep DLC:
> 
> Dark Passage: Tapping the power of tainted blood makes the rogue more nimble, able to move more quickly while using Stealth and more likely to dodge a physical attack.
> 
> The Tainted Blade: The rogue's blood gushes forth, coating the edges of weapons with a deadly taint. The character gains a bonus to damage determined by the cunning attribute, but suffers continuously depleting health in return.
> 
> I've modified them a bit both for dramatic effect and to try and aim for a more realistic depiction of what the abilities might be like. The Tainted Blade especially seemed like an ability that might come with some negative consequences not presented in the game itself.


	55. Wreck

_And oh my love remind me, what was it that I said?  
_ _I can't help but pull the earth around me, to make my bed  
_ _And oh my love remind me, what was it that I did?  
_ — _Ship to Wreck_ , Florence + the Machine

Elissa drifted in the Fade, entranced by a sickly sweet song. At times she also heard a voice, both monstrous and somehow familiar, always urging her to  _accept the gift I offer._

She ran from the voice again and again, and again and again the swirling ether would materialize into something more solid. She found herself at home—in her bedroom, her father's study, the solar. Images of her her parents, her nephew, her sister-in-law and Rory floated in and out of her vision but were always just out of reach. They would appear before her smiling and whole, and then she would remember and could do nothing but watch as their skin split with gruesome wounds and they screamed, reaching out to her…

_I'm so sorry. I've failed you all…_

She slumped over, finding herself seated on the ground in front of a great cliff. The darkness beyond the edge was complete, and somehow Elissa knew that she was staring into the mouth of the Void.

_It is a gift only I can give you,_ the voice slithered into her mind again.  _And only you can give to me._

She felt another presence singing in her blood, but when she looked up, she saw nothing. Still, she knew she was not alone.  _How is oblivion a gift?_

A long moment passed before the voice spoke again.  _It is an end._

Somehow she understood. She got to her feet and took a step.  _I have already accepted it._

Relief and joy that she was not quite sure were entirely her own flooded her senses.  _Not yet,_  the voice chided, and she felt the answering disappointment.  _It is too soon. Not yet._

She cried out as the edge receded in front of her. The darkness became an inky curtain that raced away from her as light grew in the corners of her eyes. The light brightened until she had to squint her eyes shut to keep it out.

When Elissa opened her eyes, the light had changed. The sickly green glow that permeated the Fade was gone, replaced by a blurry shape looming over her. For a long moment she stared at the expanse of canvas above her, struggling to put a name to what she was looking at.

_A tent._

A sliver of yellow light made her eyes water when she glanced at the closed tent flaps. The sun was out.  _How long have I been asleep?_

As her eyes focused, the welcome sight of Alistair came into view. He was sitting on the ground right next to her, gazing down at her with an excited and hopeful expression. "You're awake! That's amazing. I was just praying… well, thank the Maker you're awake at last."

"What…" She started to ask a question, but prying the tongue from the roof of her mouth was painful—she was so thirsty it hurt to talk.

"Right, you need water." Alistair cast his gaze around the tent for a moment, before reaching out and snatching a water skin off the floor beside him. He propped himself on his knees, and then reached out and supported the back of her head with his hand, bringing the water skin to her lips with his other one.

Her eyes were still watery and her brain was full of fog, but she drank greedily, wishing she could gulp the water down. Alistair only let her have it in sips, however. She was still drowsy from the Fade and thinking felt like too much effort, but it wasn't so bad, resting her head against the warmth of his hand, his face so close to hers. He was wearing a worried expression, with his eyebrows drawn together and his lips curved down as he watched her.  _He is handsome when he frowns_ , she thought, but then conceded that he was pretty handsome wearing any expression… which was a good thing, because he tended to wear his emotions on his sleeve for all to see. It was something she had chided him about once, but now she had to confess his expressive face was something she loved about him. That his countenance was so open and honest was a bold and refreshing thing to her and she wouldn't want him to change, in spite of anything she might have said before.

She finished at last and he gently set her head back down. Looking up at him drowsily, she shot him a languid smile. "Thanks, handsome."

His eyes widened incrementally before he shook his head, looking like he was hiding his smile. "Uh, thanks. I'm just glad you're awake. Did I mention that?" A thought must have struck him, for he cocked his head to the side and looked in her eyes, one at a time. "You  _are_  awake, right?" he asked, putting a hand on first her cheek, then her forehead, and then down to her neck and shoulder. "You don't feel feverish."

Her brain was still full of fog.  _Why would I be feverish?_  She caught his hand at her neck and closed her eyes, rubbing her thumb over the back of it. She wanted to roll over on to her side, have Alistair curl up behind her and go back to sleep together, but trying to move elicited a sharp ache in her shoulder. When she opened her eyes again and looked down at herself, she saw that she was covered in bandages—they wrapped around her chest, back and shoulder.

"Wait, what…?" She let go of his hand to probe at her apparent injury.

"Please don't do that. I don't want you to start bleeding again," Alistair said, sounding weary.

Elissa blinked in confusion for a few seconds, trying to piece together just exactly what was going on. Looking down at herself again and feeling the rough scratch of the wool blanket against her bare skin brought another realization. "I'm… naked?"

"Um, not completely," he said, rubbing his neck and averting his eyes. "You still have your small clothes but everything else was covered in your blood so we had to burn them."

Her mouth fell open as she stared up at him. "You burned my clothes?"

"Well, yeah." He glanced toward the tent flaps for a moment, and when he turned back to her she thought he was trying to smile. "It wasn't like a prank or anything—could you imagine? But, no." He shook his head. "That'd be… wildly inappropriate, wouldn't it?" At her blank expression, he winced. "You don't remember, do you?"

She frowned as she tried to pierce through the fog to remember. And then, it came to her. "I was talking to Leliana…" Her heartbeat sped up.  _The ambush!_  Her eyes went wide. "We were attacked." She looked around frantically as if she could see through the tent walls. "Are we safe here?" she asked, trying to sit up while holding the blanket against her chest.

"For the time being, yeah," Alistair leaned forward so he could put a steadying hand on her back and his other at her elbow. He let go when she was sitting up, and scooted back a bit from her, his face holding a hint of red as well.

His hand had been warm against her skin and when it left she felt much colder, but other memories began rising to the surface, making her face go red at her drowsy flirtation from a moment before.  _What is wrong with me?_  She licked her lips, wishing she could let go of the blanket to slap herself awake. "So…what are you doing here?"

Alistair shrugged, meeting her gaze for a second and then glancing away again. "I kind of had to… be the one to bandage you up and stuff. I… don't know if you remember or not, but for some reason your blood is kind of… extra tainted. "

She did remember then… she remembered lying on the ground and watching in horror as her blood sent black tendrils of smoke into the air.  _So that's what he's doing here,_ she thought, cursing herself for the surge of disappointment that flowed through her at the realization. She should simply feel relieved that she was alive and that Leliana had listened to her plea—that was the important thing. But she never seemed to feel the way she  _should,_ did she? If she could at least manage that, half of her problems would disappear.

Alistair coughed into his hand. "We should… uh… probably check your bandages… see if they need changing." He rubbed his neck and looked at the tent entrance again. "I could get Wynne but… if there's any blood at all…"

Elissa waved her arm and then winced at the pain it caused. "It's fine," she said, trying to think of something to say to ease his discomfort. "It's not like you haven't seen it all before."

That logic didn't seem to help if the way Alistair's face reddened was any indication, but she felt too weak and sore to fret much over it. She let the blanket drop to pool at her waist and held her arms out from her sides a bit, giving him access to the bandages.

"Right," Alistair said with a nod, not meeting her eye. He reached for her, placing two fingers gently at the edge of the bandage and pulling it away from her skin.

She hissed in pain when the bandage peeled away from her wound. Alistair made a  _tsk_  sound. "I think these could use changing." He cleared his throat. "If I may."

"Of course," she said, shrugging her shoulder and turning her head away.

He set to work on removing her bandages, working carefully and gently to remove them with as little pain as possible for her. When she stole a glance at him she saw that he kept his gaze studiously on his hands.

Once the bandages came off she could see the site of the wound—it sat between her collarbone and left shoulder and was crusted over with black blood in the shape of a star. From what Elissa could tell the blood was dried… and it was thankfully not smoking. She tried to crane her neck to look at her back, but the movement made her hiss in pain.

"Careful," Alistair chided, setting aside the last of the used bandages and then rummaging in a pack next to him. He pulled out a poultice and a stack of new bandages. "It was hard enough getting you to stop bleeding last time. I don't want you to tear something open again."

He set to work on cleaning her wounds, using a bit of water and a clean cloth, before spreading more poultice over the injury and wrapping her in bandages again. After the first few moments he seemed to more easily ignore her nakedness, and focused on the task at hand with an efficient and distant bedside manner she hadn't realized he could possess.

Her mind raced as he worked—it was hard to pick a question to start with, she had so many. It was hard to focus, too, what with her nakedness and his proximity and all the inconvenient memories that sprang up to haunt her at the moment.

Before she could pick a question, Alistair spoke. "So… I've never seen or heard of anything like that happening with a Warden's blood before." He started wrapping the bandages around her, pressing the end of it into her shoulder to hold it in place while he wound it under her arm and then over her shoulder. She bit her lip to keep from crying out in pain as he moved her left arm. "But then again, I know there are a lot of things about the Wardens I never got the chance to learn. Maybe this is just something that happens to Wardens who Join during a Blight? Can you lift up your right arm? I have to wind this under your um… chest… er… area."

She complied and he wrapped a length of bandage around her torso. The top of his fingers brushed against the bottom of her breast as he moved, but if he noticed he didn't show it. It was more than a little distracting to her at least, but once the words sunk in she forgot about her nakedness completely.

_He doesn't know._ But of course, how would he or anyone else ever guess that she had imbibed a potion from Avernus that altered her tainted blood? It occurred to her that she didn't have to tell him the truth… she could feign ignorance about the whole thing.

"No, that's not it," she found herself saying. Telling more lies than necessary was probably unwise, but even if it weren't, she couldn't bear to lie anymore. "I… I know why my blood is like this."

He met her gaze, his eyebrows shooting upward as his hand stilled on top of her shoulder. "Really?"

She nodded.

He removed his hand and turned away, reaching for something on Wynne's bedroll. When he faced her again, he had a white cotton shirt in his hands, and without saying a word, put it over her head and helped her move her arms through the sleeves. "There," he said once he was done and sat back on his heels.

It seemed like they both relaxed a little now that she had some clothes on. She moved so that her legs were crossed under her, wincing from the effort.

"Thanks," she mumbled, trying not to think about the fact that Alistair was going to have to be her designated healer from now on.  _We might have many more awkward moments just like this one to look forward to._  It was probably pathetic that she didn't know how she felt about that.

"So what is it?" Alistair prompted.

The lump in her throat made swallowing difficult, but she spoke in a rush before she could change her mind. "While we were at Soldier's Peak I took a potion Avernus made. He wasn't sure what the exact effects would be but the point was to harness the power of my tainted blood to make me a more effective fighter."

Alistair went still. "You knew about this?"

The pit in her stomach was twisting and cold. "No!" she exclaimed, shaking her head. "I mean… I didn't know exactly what it would do. You have to believe me," she pleaded, staring into his eyes and hoping against hope that he did. "I had no idea it would make my blood so dangerous. I would have never…" she trailed off when she realized she couldn't finish the sentence truthfully. She probably still would have taken the potion, regardless of what it did to her, because she had to. "I would have never kept that information hidden from you," she finished at last.

"Oh," Alistair said, and she got the impression he was trying to decide whether to believe her or not. That stung a bit. His frown deepened and he shook his head. "So you didn't even know what the potion would do and you took it anyway? Doesn't that seem, I don't know… a bit risky?"

She stared at him helplessly, trying to think of the words that would appease him. It ate at her that she couldn't divulge the truth.  _I did it to find out what it takes to kill the archdemon._ That was a reason Alistair could probably understand and sympathize with—after all, wasn't he the one that taught her that Wardens do whatever it takes to defeat the Blight? He knew how much she worried over killing the fearsome beast. He could forgive that, certainly.

But if she told him that, then she would have to tell him the explanation, and she had to avoid that at all costs. If she had anything left to believe in at all, it was in Alistair's loyalty and essential goodness. Even now after all that she'd done to lose his favor, she was convinced that if he knew the truth, he would want to do the sacrifice himself.

That… could not be tolerated.  _Would_  not be tolerated. It wasn't fair perhaps, that she was making this decision for the both of them, but if her recent past had taught her anything at all it was that life was seldom fair. Too many people she loved had already given their lives so that she might live. Their deaths weighed on her whenever her mind lacked distraction. She did not want to add to that tally with anyone's name, but especially not with Alistair's.

He didn't deserve that fate for simply making the foolish choice of falling in love with her.

At last, she shrugged a shoulder, and then winced at the shooting pain the movement caused. "I just… thought I could use every advantage, I guess. I thought it would make me stronger."

His eyes narrowed as he studied her, before he let out a breathy sigh and rubbed a hand over his face. "Well, I wish you hadn't."

"Me too."  _You have no idea._

The silence that stretched on between them seemed to last an age. Before she could think of anything to say, her stomach spoke up instead. It growled loudly, filling the silence with its rumblings.

Alistair heard it, too. "You must be positively starving. You've been out for almost a day. Hang on, I'll get you some food."

_A whole day?_  She didn't have a chance to ask for more information, because he quickly got to his feet and darted out of the tent, leaving her to sit there gaping at the tent flaps.

Leliana's voice was just outside, sounding sharp and angry. "Have you told her yet?"

She couldn't quite hear all of Alistair's response—either they moved away or he said it quietly, but she thought she caught the words "working up to it" in there.

The overheard conversation filled her with dread, but her mind skittered away from analyzing it too closely. Sometimes it was better not to know things, Elissa had come to learn. She felt an uncharacteristic desire to enjoy her blissful ignorance for as long as she could.

When Alistair came back, he had a pile of food in his arms, wrapped up in a clean white handkerchief. He sat in front of her, crossing his legs under him and setting the bundle down. The smell of dried meat and fruit made her mouth water, and she reached for it without thinking, grabbing a fist full with her good hand. She ate noisily and greedily, with no thought of table manners or etiquette.

"Sorry there's no fresh meat," Alistair muttered. "We haven't exactly been hunting these last few days."

She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth and reached for another fistful of food, trying to think of which question she should ask first out of the dozen or so she had floating in her head. Maybe it was best to start simple. "Who were those men? I don't think they were Howe's."

"You're right. They weren't. But don't worry, we're safe. Turns out our ambushers did us a favor. We scouted a bit to see if there were more of them. Looks like they had a run-in with Howe's men not too far from here. So, they took care of that for us. Nice of them, don't you think?"

Elissa's eyes went wide and she spoke around a mouthful of food. "They seemed focused on attacking Leliana."

His grin faded and he nodded. "We managed to question one of them before he died. Apparently… they were sent by some Marjolaine person." He frowned down at the space on the tent floor between them. "She's a bard from Orlais." He sighed, and met Elissa's gaze again. "Turns out Leliana wasn't always a Chantry sister. She used to be a bard, too."

Elissa froze, lips pursed. She got the feeling Alistair expected her to be surprised. "Oh."

His eyes narrowed at her reaction, and then he closed them, shaking his head to himself and letting out a sigh. "But… you knew that already didn't you?"

Elissa winced at the accusation. She swallowed her mouthful of food. "I… I'm sorry I didn't tell you." Surely she'd done the right thing by keeping Leliana's secret, but coming on the heels of her last confession, it just made her feel like an even bigger liar. "You have to understand… it wasn't my secret to tell." She licked her lips. "And besides, you two are so close… I thought she would have told you herself by now."

She held her breath as he studied her wordlessly for a few seconds, and let it out when he at last gave a little shrug. "'Sfine. Like you said, it's on her for not telling me sooner," he muttered, still looking disquieted. It made her feel small and mean but she couldn't help enjoying the fact that for once he was mad at someone else. "Anyway, I have a feeling we'll have to deal with all that eventually, but it isn't like we can do anything about it now. We can't go back to Denerim anytime soon."

"Good point," Elissa said through another mouthful of food.

"I'm glad you agree," Alistair said with a little grin. It faded a moment later when he cleared his throat. "Speaking of things we may have to deal with eventually…"

Her stomach twisted in fear and she stopped chewing to ask, "What is it?"

Alistair was looking at the tent entrance, a thoughtful expression on his face. "So… I don't know how to say this exactly but… Wynne…" He winced and trailed off.

Elissa's heart was in her throat. "She's not dead is she?" she said around her mouthful of fruit, spraying bits of food everywhere.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "She's not dead, don't worry. She's… well, I won't say it's worse than dead but…" Again his face held a grimace like he was dreading saying the next words.

Elissa swallowed her half-chewed mouthful of food painfully. "Just tell me!" she spat out when she could talk.

Alistair held up his hands. "Sorry! Alright, alright… she's …. Well, she's possessed. But not by a demon. It's a… nice spirit, I guess?"

Elissa's mouth fell open. "Wynne's an abomination?"

"No, she's exactly as she was before. She's been this way since she came with us, apparently." When Elissa said nothing and just continued to stare at him with wide eyes, he gave a snort of laughter and shook his head. "I don't quite understand it myself, obviously, but I don't think she's a danger to us."

" _Maker's breath_!" Elissa swore, shaking her head in disbelief. A moment later she held up her hands in a gesture of innocence. "I swear, I had no idea."

Alistair's lips twitched. "I… gathered that, yeah." He shot her a wry grin. "Bet you're regretting that extended nap you just took now, eh?"

She gave a sharp intake of breath. "I didn't choose to go to sleep. I got shot with an arrow!"

Chuckling quietly, he lifted up a hand in surrender. "It's a joke, 'Liss."

"Oh," she said, looking away and feeling stupid. It occurred to her how long it had been since she'd failed to understand one of Alistair's jokes—mostly because he had stopped making them around her. Whatever had caused him to make them again, Elissa didn't want him to reconsider. "Of course," she said, her own lips fighting a smile now. "I knew that."

"Sure you did." His voice held that rich, teasing tone that had once infuriated her, back when she barely knew him.

Looking down at the dried strip of meat in her hands, Elissa picked it apart. "I miss this," she said shyly.

"Really?" His voice still held the gently teasing tone to it. "I think it tastes like shoe leather."

"I'm not talking about the food." She was torn between studying his reaction and keeping her gaze studiously on her hands and so settled with sneaking a few glances at him as she spoke. "I'm talking about… us. Talking. Like this. Without fighting."

After the words were out she deeply regretted them, so great was her fear that he might now take the opportunity to tell her once again how very angry and disappointed he was at her. Perhaps she should have spoke of anything else.

He seemed to freeze for a few heartbeats, keeping his gaze downcast and thus concealed, but after what felt like an eternity he looked up and gave her the smallest of resigned smiles. "I do too," he confessed quietly.

The relief that flowed through her sent a heady thrill singing through her veins, but it also left her feeling a bit shaky and unsure of what to say next. Knowing her, she would say the exact wrong thing and spoil the moment utterly. "I'm sorry," she blurted out anyway, and then bit her lip so hard it brought tears to her eyes. "About everything… how it all… my part in particular… I'm just so sorry." Her voice was thick with tears by the time she got to the end of that rambling wreck of a sentence and so she snapped her mouth closed and blinked down at her hands, trying to reign in the tumultuous swell of guilt and sadness that threatened to overwhelm her.

He spoke quietly again. "I know."

She looked up in surprise. "You do?" she asked, unable to keep a hopeful pitch from entering her tone. She had expected to have to explain much more. "Really?"

The sigh Alistair gave was weary. "Look," he started, his voice deep and firm but not unkind. "This isn't exactly the best time…"

"It's never the best time."

He gave a soft snort at that, and covered his face with his hand. "Ain't that the truth," he asked, though for once Elissa recognized it as a rhetorical question and didn't respond. He let his hand drop and then looked at her with another tired smile. "So how about we just skip the whole… talking it to death thing… and just put all this behind us and move on? Consider it forgotten."

Elissa's eyes went wide and her heart was in her throat. Her mouth worked for a few seconds before she was able to form words. At last she was able to sputter out, "Do… do you really mean it?"

"I do," he said and then turned his head to look toward the tent entrance. "I think we have more important things to worry about—"

She gasped, but her face fell as the realization overwhelmed her. It had seemed too good to be true, but now she understood. "Oh,  _no._ "

"What? What is it?"

She sighed deeply.  _Of course._ "I get it. Whatever it is you're dreading telling me… it's bad enough to make our issues seem trivial."

Alistair closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'll never get over how that brain of yours works," he said when he opened them, looking sad and resigned.

His expression robbed her of any joy she might've felt at the awe in his voice. She winced, bracing herself for the worst.  _You already know what it is._  Ignoring the voice in her head she concentrated on Alistair. She didn't want to make this deduction herself. She had to hear it from him. "What is it?"

Alistair didn't seem to know where to look. "I'm sorry… I don't know how to say this…" He took a deep breath and started picking at a piece of invisible lint on his pants. "When I found you, you'd lost so much blood… I got the arrow out and you didn't wake up. I couldn't… I couldn't get you to drink the potion and you were bleeding. There was just so much blood… so much…"

"Alistair," Elissa interrupted, her voice low with fear. The dread that was circling her heart was suffocating. "What did you do?"

He rubbed his hands on his pants before taking a deep breath and at last meeting her eyes with his own. "I'm sorry… I didn't know what to do and I couldn't let you just… die. I had to do something… I… I asked Solona to help."

A cold pit of fear formed in her stomach. "Oh no…"

He winced. "You'll figure something out, won't you?" His face and tone said everything.

_Oh no._  They weren't prepared for something like this. Her throat closed up with fear, but she forced herself to focus. "How long has she had symptoms?"

She could hear the hard swallow Alistair took at that. "She started showing symptoms almost immediately. So… it's been about a day and a half."

Elissa felt like she was sinking as she buried her face in her hands. Desperately she found herself wishing for the gaping chasm of the Void to open up before her again, only for real this time. She would gladly throw herself in it rather than face the damage she had wrecked.

Her friend was tainted, and it was all her fault. Of all the things she'd done, there was one she came back to, over and over again. Avernus had been right about that. "I should have just gone to sleep that night." She shook her head, whispering to herself, "I wish I would have ..."

"What was that?" Alistair asked.

She couldn't answer. "Nothing," she said as she struggled to rise. She would fix this somehow. She had to. "Take me to her."


	56. Survive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the past, Solona and Wynne talk about Solona’s attitude, while in the present, Solona deals with the fallout of the ambush.

_And I'm damned if I do and I'm damned if I don't_  
_So here's to drinks in the dark at the end of my road  
_ — _Shake it Out,_ Florence + the Machine

Solona slouched in the cushioned chair, one leg slung over the arm in a posture that proclaimed pure boredom. The enchanter's tiny office—it was probably more accurate to call it a closet—was windowless. The only light source was a flickering candle resting on the wooden desk that occupied most of the room.

Wynne sat behind the desk, looking like she was preparing for a good long lecture. The flickering candlelight deepened the lines of her frown.. "Well? Have you nothing to say for yourself?"

Letting out a deep, noisy sigh, Solona rolled her eyes. "What is there to say? I was tired."

"You were tired? That's your explanation?"

"Yes. The explanation for why I fell asleep in Entropy is that I was tired. Go figure."

"You've fallen asleep in Entropy every day this week. Obviously you're tired. But why? What's wrong? What's going on with you? Why aren't you sleeping?"

 _Because I'm afraid to._ She couldn't tell Wynne that though. Instead, she shrugged a shoulder. "I don't know. Maybe it has something to do with sleeping in a big, noisy hall with a couple dozen other apprentices. Half of them snore and the other half talk in their sleep."

Wynne reclined a bit, resting her head against the chair's cushioned back. "You've been sleeping in a room like that since you were four years old. You expect me to believe it suddenly bothers you?"

Solona shrugged again, but didn't say anything, and didn't meet Wynne's gaze.

"Is it the demons?" Wynne whispered. "Are you having trouble keeping them at bay?"

"No," Solona lied automatically, too fearful to confess the truth. She had yet to undergo her harrowing and didn't want to reveal the extent to which the demons hounded her sleep. Many conversations with other mages had taught her that the amount of trouble she had with demons in the Fade wasn't normal. The last thing she needed was to give the Templars a rock solid reason to make her tranquil. "I'm not having any trouble with demons."

She was a good enough liar by now. Wynne believed her. "Well," she said, leaning forward and placing her hands on the top of the desk, as if about to rise. "Perhaps I ought to check you over to make sure there isn't some physical cause for your insomnia."

The idea of Wynne using her magic to probe her for secrets shot a sliver of fear into her chest. She didn't know what she expected Wynne might find—some fundamental weakness in her magic, perhaps—but she felt compelled to stave it off nonetheless. "Maybe I'm just  _bored._ Did you ever think of that?"

Wynne paused, still leaning forward, and laced her hands together to rest them on the desk. "Bored? Really? I could understand if you were ahead of your peers, but you still have quite a bit left to learn." She cocked her head to the side. "You're not interested in improving your magical abilities?"

"To what purpose?" Solona swung her leg off the arm so that she could sit up straight. "I mean, say I become the greatest mage to ever mage… who cares? All I'll ever do is sit in this stupid tower."

Wynne gave a frustrated sigh. "Mages who demonstrate proficiency are given more privileges and responsibilities…"

"But they're still stuck here like everyone else! What? I'm supposed to break my back learning all this stuff just because it'll get me 'more responsibilities' some day? Like I really want to sit in some dark closet for an office, lecturing snot-nosed kids about 'taking their potential seriously'."

Once the words were out, Solona's cheeks felt warm. Wynne didn't deserve the level of ire she was throwing at her, but she was exhausted and mentally frayed and couldn't tell anyone why.

Wynne gave out a deep sigh. "The Circle is what you make of it. Treat it like a prison, and it will feel that way to you. But it doesn't have to be. You can build a life here for yourself that is fulfilling and happy. But it means… getting involved. Caring about something beyond just  _yourself_." She tilted her head to the side. "Have you given any thought to which fraternity you might like to apply?"

Solona wrinkled her nose. As far as she could tell, fraternities existed for those who loved to hear themselves talk. They met in over-stuffed, sweltering offices and blathered about theory when they weren't shoving tea biscuits in their faces. "Ew. No thanks."

Undeterred, Wynne tapped her fingers on the top of the desk. "If you are unhappy with how things are in the Circle, you should work to change them. Perhaps you should talk to Uldred—he's the leader of the Libertarians in our Circle." She put her hands up as if in surrender. "Now personally I don't agree with everything the Libertarians champion but… if you feel passionately enough about how things are, maybe the group could do you some good. I think Uldred is in the library at this hour—come, I'll take you to him and you can see for yourself."

The idea of meeting with Uldred was not an attractive one. There was something kind of creepy about that guy, Solona had always thought. "Look, that's a nice thought and all, but I really think I just need to go and—"

Wynne had risen as Solona spoke and moved to come around the desk. She suddenly stumbled as if her legs had given out.

"Wynne!" Solona leapt to her feet, catching the older woman before she fell to the floor. "Are you alright?" she asked, keeping a steadying hand on her elbow as the other woman regained her balance.

Wynne clutched at Solona's arm for a moment before she managed to straighten and let go. Running a hand over her face, she gave a little chuckle. "Oh, I'm fine, dear. Don't fuss. It's just been a few days since I've eaten."

Solona let go of Wynne to cross her arms over her chest. "You're lecturing me about not sleeping while you're not eating for days? What the fuck?"

Wynne's lips twitched at Solona's chiding tone. "It's a deliberate choice," she said, and then her expression grew somber. "It's… a hunger strike."

Solona's eyes went wide. "Is this about Anders?"

"He's been in solitary far too long. We have to do something." Clear blue eyes met Solona's gaze. "We can enact change if we try, Solona. Peacefully, even. Just you watch."

"What do you mean by 'we'?"

"I'm not the only one refusing to eat. It started with a group of senior enchanters… but there are more mages joining the cause everyday. The Knight-Commander won't be able to ignore us for long." Her eyes glinted in the candle-light. "You're friends with Anders, aren't you?"

Solona shrugged. Everyone was friends with Anders. Even the ban on swimming in Lake Calenhad brought upon by his last escape attempt wasn't enough to reduce the gregarious healer's popularity much. Everybody loved him, in spite of all the trouble he caused. Solona had to admit that he was pretty charming and kind.

To be honest, it made Solona feel a little bitter. She had once known what it was like to be the Circle darling. Most mages' magic didn't manifest until they were a bit older, so Solona had enjoyed a childhood filled with doting enchanters who were unused to being around such a young, cute kid. But she couldn't remain the youngest forever. The doting disappeared as she grew up and into a sarcastic young woman of middling magical ability.

But Anders' popularity was based on his charisma and kindness. There wasn't a young apprentice at that Tower who hadn't gone to Anders at some point for healing. No one soothed the pain of an ear infection or an upset tummy like everybody's cool older brother, Anders. His popularity was well earned.

So when word finally got out that he'd been not only captured but kept in solitary confinement for months and months now, the mages were deeply upset. It hadn't made Solona particularly happy, either, but what could she do? The Templars were not going to be lenient on someone who had escaped so many times, and it wasn't like she could mount some kind of a rescue herself.

"I guess we're friends," she mumbled, looking down at her toes.

Wynne squeezed Solona's upper arm lightly. "Consider joining us… you never know. It might make you feel good to  _do_  something for a change."

Solona's muscles ached with exhaustion, and it was too warm in Wynne's little office. "Look… I'll… think about it. And I'll think about what you said about the Libertarians and Uldred and all that stuff. I promise."

That seemed to be enough to get her off the hook and once Solona was out of the cramped office, she felt like she could breathe again. 'Doing something' sounded like an excellent way of getting the Templars' unwanted attention and Solona couldn't exactly afford that right now.

By the end of that week, almost every mage in the Tower was participating in Wynne's hunger strike. They made quite the sight—each one of them still appeared in the dining hall at the appointed meal times. They simply sat in front of their empty plates, eyes averted from the heaping mounds of food loaded at each table and hands folded in their laps.

Solona's gaze met Wynne's across the room as she sat down for dinner. The old lady's eyes were twinkling. The hall was practically silent, with only the youngest mages making any noise as they ate. The Templars lined up along the room's edge were shuffling about in discomfort, however, making Solona feel as if ice was forming in her painfully empty gut.

She was exhausted and hungry, and the thought of skipping a meal didn't appeal in the slightest.  _What difference will it even make?_  Besides, why should Solona risk her neck for Anders anyway? It's not like he ever took anyone with him on his escape attempts… he was only trying to help himself, too, she reasoned.

Without breaking eye contact with Wynne, Solona picked up a serving spoon and deliberately served herself a heaping mound of potatoes.

The old lady's face fell into a deep frown as Solona picked up her fork and shoved a huge portion into her mouth, chewing noisily and with relish.  _Fuck this place. Fuck everyone. I don't care._  The food was good, and she was hungry.

* * *

Solona's eyes fluttered open as she fought the urge to drift back into sleep. The Fade was not a fun place for her right now. The demons must have discovered her weakness because they were slipping through her defenses with terrible whispers that promised to take her pain away. Also, it might've been her imagination… probably it was… but it seemed like everything was tinged a deep and dark red.

Of course, being awake was not particularly pleasant either, what with the darkspawn corruption flowing through her veins. Her every limb felt sore, her head pounded like someone was hammering a nail into it, and her throat ached like she had swallowed glass.

Her eyes focused as she blinked herself awake, noticing for the first time that she wasn't alone. She was on her bedroll, lying on her back, while Wynne fussed about with some vials and a bowl beside her. In spite of the pain, a wave of pleasant nostalgia washed over her. "Hey Wym."

The old circle mage's head snapped up, and a smile crept over her face. "Wym. Now that's a name I've not heard since you were little." Turning back to her ingredients, she chuckled softly. "You were such a cute kid."

"I was, wasn't I?" A wide yawn had her jaw aching. "Can you give me anything to help keep me awake?"

"Unfortunately, most healing elixirs have the opposite effect." Wynne's head was bent over as she carefully tapped a bowl full of ground elfroot into a large vial. She set the bowl down and looked up at Solona again after stoppering the vial. "You know it only just occurred to me… when you were brought to the Circle, your parents told the Templars that strange things happened while you were sleeping. That must have been your dreamer ability manifesting early."

"I don't really remember it." She didn't start having trouble with dreams until she hit puberty, for some reason.

Wynne's mouth turned down into a thoughtful frown as she shook the vial to mix up its contents. "You know all that time at the Circle… I didn't realize… You were struggling with your  _somniari_  magic and I never even knew."

"I wasn't exactly forthcoming," Solona said, feeling her throat tighten up. She turned her head to stare at the tent wall. "I was a little shit, to be honest." Wynne snorted softly and Solona turned back to look at her, fighting a smile. "Who am I kidding? I'm still a pretty big shit, ain't I?"

Wynne's smile faltered and her eyes went glassy, but she recovered quickly. "We all have our faults, my dear."

Her mild tone made Solona's chest ache with guilt. Everyone was being so nice to the dead girl… "No, really," she said aloud, and then cleared her throat. "I… I haven't been very kind to you since we left. I'm sorry about all that."

Wynne inclined her head. "Apology accepted." She gave out a deep sigh. "I know you feel like I meddle too much… and I suppose there's some truth to that." She patted Solona's arm. "Don't fret about it, my dear. Now, sit up so you can take this potion."

Biting back the sigh that threatened to erupt, Solona obliged, propping herself up by the elbow so she could doff the potion. "Bleah," she said, handing the empty vial back to Wynne and lying back down. "I'll never get used to that taste." She stared at the roof of the tent. What she didn't say was that she didn't think the healing potions were doing a lick of good. All they did was make her sleepy, but the darkspawn corruption that flowed through her body wasn't going away.

Of course, everyone knew the Blight sickness couldn't be cured with healing potions. They were merely trying to halt its progress.

The tent flaps opened, and Leliana ducked inside, sounding breathless. "She's awake. Alistair's with her right now."

"Oh, thank the Maker," Wynne breathed, and then seemed to catch the desperate note that had crept into her tone. She covered it with a smile a second later. "I'm sure Elissa will have some ideas."

_Right. Elissa will wake up and solve everything. No pressure._

Solona did not share her companions' optimism. There was only one cure for Blight sickness, but although they had acquired the recipe for the Joining they had no darkspawn blood to speak of, let alone archdemon blood. The situation seemed crystal clear to her, but no one else seemed willing to admit it.

 _Well, except Sten._ "Kill the saarebas and be done with it. The longer you delay, the more likely it is that it will entreat with a demon in desperation," she had overheard the giant say a few hours ago. He was roundly shushed by a chorus of voices after that.

Still, she was glad that Elissa was awake, too. "How is she? No fever?"

Leliana had settled herself at Solona's feet, and rubbed a comforting hand against her leg. "Oh, she's fine. Don't worry about her. How are you feeling?"

"A little better," she lied, smiling. She didn't feel guilty at keeping up the fiction with everyone else. She was too exhausted and in too much pain to face their reaction to the truth. "Wynne's potions are something else. You should really try cooking with them sometime. Spice up the stew."

Leliana's tittering laugh was louder than the joke deserved, but it still felt good to hear. She tried to drink up the sight of the smiling Chantry sister. The one good thing about dying was all the attention it invoked. Leliana had barely left her side since she got sick, even though Solona worried about contagion. "You won't keep me away," Leliana had insisted when she mentioned it.

Solona cleared her throat. "Listen, can you send Elissa in here alone?"

Wynne and Leliana shared a look, before Leliana turned back to Solona with a reassuring smile. "Of course. I'll see if she's ready." She gave Solona's leg a little squeeze before getting to her feet and leaving the tent.

Wynne gathered up her ingredients. "And I'll get out of your hair, too," she said. "For now. We'll drink another potion in an hour or so."

"Sure," Solona said softly as Wynne slowly got to her feet. It took her a bit longer than it took Leliana. "And hey, thanks. For everything."

Wynne paused with her hand on the tent flap. "You're welcome, child," she said, before slipping out of the tent.

Her eyelids were getting heavy and she almost drifted back to sleep before the tent flaps finally opened again and Elissa slipped inside. She was quite the sight. Half her hair looked like it decided to rebel against being tucked inside of a braid… it hung around her shoulders messily. The white cotton shirt she wore billowed around her tiny frame and served as basically a dress, since she wasn't wearing any pants. It looked like she had thrown on one of Alistair's shirts and rushed right over. The thought filled Solona's chest with warmth.

It took Elissa almost as much time to sit down as it took for Wynne to stand up. She was wincing with pain from the effort when she finally got settled.

"Hey princess," Solona said as she watched her. Her skin looked good—not deathly pale or sallow. She could see bandages peeking out of the neck hole of her shirt, and Elissa appeared to be moving stiffly, but otherwise she seemed fairly healthy. "Glad to see you're still breathing."

"Thanks to you." Elissa shot her a warm smile before her expression sobered. "We're going to see what kinds of additional alchemical remedies we can come up with. I have a few ideas for ingredients that might help stave off your symptoms for awhile. Then, once Morrigan returns from Redcliffe she'll be able to scout the forest for darkspawn. There has to be some of the monsters  _somewhere._ This is a Blight, isn't it?" She finished her speech with a weak smile.

 _That's the plan?_  In spite of the fact that she knew there was nothing else that could be done, Solona still felt a twinge of disappointment. There had been some small part of her that had believed however faintly that Elissa might be able to solve this problem for her. But that wasn't fair. Elissa couldn't work miracles. "Don't forget we also need to concentrate a good amount. We don't have archdemon blood, either."

"I'm aware," Elissa said, her eyebrows pulling together to form a little line between them. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Our first priority has to be locating some darkspawn."

"Elissa… look at me. Do I look like I have that kind of time?"

Elissa's big green eyes blinked rapidly as her gaze ghosted over her. Solona could tell that she was trying not to focus too hard on the way her normally light brown skin had turned to a mottled and almost translucent grey... black veins traced patterns underneath her skin and she was covered in dark blotches.

As bad as she looked, she felt even worse.

Elissa licked her lips. "We haven't tried everything, like I said. There maybe some additional potions that we can use—"

"Elissa." Solona tucked her chin to her chest and looked up at her with a flat expression. "Please. I'm counting on you to be the one to face the facts, here."

But apparently Elissa was unwilling. She shook her head. "We're not going to do anything drastic here. I'm confident I can halt the progress of this disease—"

"And what if you can't? You know what happens to people infected with Blight sickness, don't you?"

"Yes, of course, but like I said, we can delay the onset—"

"They become ghouls, Elissa. Mindless, hostile ghouls."

Elissa stuck out her jaw. "I'm aware of the particulars—"

"And what do you think happens to a mage that becomes a ghoul?"

The Warden's mouth snapped closed, pressing together to form a thin line. She didn't answer.

"I'll tell you what happens—they become an abomination. You know what I am. If I can't… if I can't keep the demons at bay I'll become almost as bad as a Blight myself."

It was the thought that had kept her awake for the last day and half, but no one else had been willing to discuss. Elissa however… she was practical enough to see the issue for the grave concern it really was.

"Well," Elissa said, in a quiet shaky voice. "You're not…. You're not a ghoul yet. And we have Alistair's Templar abilities…" She trailed off at Solona's expression, before her face crumpled and her hands flew to her face. "Oh Maker," she said into her hands. "This is all my fault. I'm so sorry." She pulled her hands away, revealing an anguished expression. "I never meant for anything like this to happen…"

"Hey, now, don't do that," Solona said in a soothing tone. The blame game had become her companions' favorite past time of late. It was Leliana's fault, the pretty ex-Chantry sister had insisted. Those men were after her. If she hadn't had such a checkered past, they never would have attacked. It was Alistair's fault, he insisted. If he hadn't begged her to interfere, she would have never been infected. "It's none of your fault, do you hear me? It was a choice… it was  _my_ choice. And you know what? I'd do it again. Even knowing what would happen."

Elissa's eyebrows climbed her forehead. "Really?"

Solona gave a small, private smile while she stared at her sickly looking hands resting atop the blanket. "Do you want to know what I thought when Leliana told me you had jumped in front of an arrow for her?" When Elissa nodded, she went on. "I thought, 'of course she did. She probably did it without even thinking… like it was automatic.'"

Elissa's face was a treasure, and in a lighter moment Solona might've laughed. It was rare to see the Warden speechless.

Solona gave a crooked smile. "Right. That's just… who you are. You and Alistair, and hell everyone else we travel with… even Wynne… more than you know… you're all just these big… damn heroes."

"I don't know about that…"

"I do." She shrugged. "It's what makes following you so easy. You're… decisive. You see what needs to be done and you  _do_  things. You don't sit around glaring at your navel trying to figure out what to do next."

Elissa picked at the hem of her shirt, seeming uncomfortable at all the scrutiny. "I… suppose that's true."

Solona gave a rueful laugh. "Me? I'm the exact fucking opposite. I don't  _do_  anything… all I've ever done is just… survive." She shrugged. "Well, until now, that is."

Elissa was frowning deeply. "Don't talk like that. You've helped us from the moment you met us."

She sighed and then struggled to sit up. "Just hear me out." Elissa stayed silent as she settled the blanket around her lap. "Like I said before… what I did to help you yesterday… that was my choice. And… I'm happy that I made it. Because I never really made a choice like that before… I didn't know if I had it in me, to tell you the truth." She winced as a fresh wave of pain coursed through her, making her muscles so tense they felt like they were going to snap. When the spasm passed, she managed a dry chuckle. "I mean, does it suck that I got Tainted? It sucks pretty bad." Jutting out her chin, she met Elissa's gaze with a clear one of her own. "But at least I know what kind of person I am now. That's worth a lot."

Elissa had frozen during her little speech. She stayed that way for a few seconds, before her face again contorted and she burst into tears. Her arms flew out a moment later and Solona found herself clutched in her tight embrace, patting her on the back awkwardly as she sobbed.

For all of Elissa's idiosyncrasies she was surprisingly physically demonstrative with her affection when she was overcome with emotion. It was actually kind of endearing, even if the hugging was a little excessive. "There, there," Solona murmured.

Elissa pulled away, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "I'm sorry… I shouldn't be… you shouldn't have to comfort  _me_ , when you're the one…" Shaking her head, she closed her eyes for a few moments. When she opened them, she seemed a little more calm. "I just can't believe all of this is happening because of my blood…"

Solona cocked her head quizzically. Elissa had suddenly gone still, her mouth frozen into a little 'o' and her eyes wide. "What?"

Her mouth fell open, but no sound came out while she stared at Solona for a few more heartbeats. At last, she clasped a hand over her forehead. "I can't believe I didn't think of this before!"

Solona's heart was in her throat. She didn't want to dare to believe… but that expression was a familiar one. "Think of what? Tell me!"

Elissa mouth curved into a wide, open smile. "I know how we can do the Joining! Right now. Today." She turned her head and put her hand to her mouth before yelling at a painfully loud volume, "Alistair!"

"What… what do you need him for? How are you going to do it? Spill it!" She reached out and gave Elissa's good shoulder a good poke.

That seemed to startle the Warden into complying. "All of this is happening because of  _my blood._ Because my blood is so incredibly concentrated with the Taint, don't you see? It's like archdemon blood!"

Alistair's head popped in through the tent flaps. "What is it? Are you two alright?"

"We're fine," Solona started to say.

"Get in here. I need your blood," Elissa commanded.

"Elissa! Maker's tits you have got to learn how to talk to people," Solona said, but couldn't keep from giggling. "But right now I don't give a shit. Get in here Alistair."

"I don't understand, what's going on?" Alistair crouched down next Elissa.

Elissa turned to look up at him, her face lit up by the fire of her inspiration, talking in that rapid-fire way she had when she was really excited about an idea. "Our problems with performing the Joining are twofold: we lack both darkspawn blood  _and_  archdemon blood. But we have something that might be just as good."

She paused, looking up at Alistair with an excited and hopeful smile.

Alistair was eating it up, of course, Solona couldn't help observing. He seemed to get a real kick out of Elissa's little babbling genius bit. Solona thought she understood. Elissa was kind of at her most likeable when she was like this—the woman was all enthusiasm and no poise when she had a really good idea.

As Solona watched the two of them she found herself wondering whether they might work things out and then it hit her… if what Elissa was saying was true, she might live to witness it.

"Ew," she said aloud, and then laughed aloud when the two of them turned to look at her in confusion. She waved a hand. "Never mind. Can this really work?"

"Well, it's a Joining," Elissa said, shrugging a shoulder. "It'll work or you'll die." She paused a beat. "Just like any Joining."

"Right," Solona said. She took a deep breath, staring at the two Wardens in front of her. "Let's do it."

Elissa nodded, and then there was a flurry of activity too intense for Solon to keep up with. She lay back down and watched as Elissa scurried about, yelling out to Wynne for supplies, and patiently explaining the process to Alistair. "I'm going to mix a tiny portion of mine with yours so that we can try to approximate regular darkspawn blood. Then, Solona will have to cast her spell to mix the lyrium with another drop of my blood and your fake darkspawn blood. Got it?"

"Yeah," Alistair said, rolling up his sleeve. "I think so."

Elissa turned to Solona with a frown. "Are you able to cast the spell?"

"Oh I'll cast that spell if it's the last thing I ever do," Solona said, grinning. "You just do your alchemical magic, alright?"

Elissa had a needle and a tube that she attached to Alistair's arm, who looked just a little pale—the sight of his red blood flowing through the tube to empty in a vial the apparent cause. Solona was too giddy with hope to be bothered.

Elissa pricked her finger and added a drop of her smoking blood to Alistair's vial when it was filled. She swished it around a bit and the liquid turned darker. Frowning down at it, she held it out for Alistair to look at. "Does this look like darkspawn blood to you?"

Alistair was holding his arm where the needle had poked him. "I… I think so. I don't know." He looked up at Elissa with a worried glance.

"I think it's close enough," Elissa mumbled, setting the vial down and picking up another one. She added a single drop of her blood to it before setting it down and wrapping her hand in a cloth. She moved the two vials so that they sat closer to Solona, before adding a bottle of lyrium to the little line. "Wait," she said. "We need a cup."

A few minutes later, and a small tin cup was added to the collection. "Not exactly a Joining chalice but it'll have to do," Alistair said, helping Solona sit back up.

Elissa held out another bottle of lyrium. "Do you need this?"

She shook her head. "The spell isn't that taxing." She closed her eyes and sensed her well of mana, reaching out for it with her magic. The creation spell she cast felt like it flowed out of her hands and into each bottle as she added them to the tin cup. She could feel the corruption inside her grow worse as her magic touched the blood. With the last of her strength, she added the lyrium to the mix. "There," she said, slumping over. "That ought to do it."

Alistair and Elissa looked stricken, and a glance at her hands made the reason clear. Her veins grew more visible and etched over her skin with inky black patterns. It was getting hard to breathe.

"We need to do this quickly," Elissa said, picking up the Joining 'chalice'.

"Wait," Alistair said, resting a hand on Elissa's shoulder. "We need to say the words."

It was taking all of her strength to remain upright, otherwise she might've yelled out  _sod the fucking words and hand over the damn cup already_ , but as it was she could only sit there hugging herself and trying not to fall over.

She had thought Elissa would brush aside the need for any kind of ritual, but she sat back on her heels and took a deep breath. "Join us, sister," she said in a voice that was just above a whisper. "Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that can not be forsworn." Elissa's throat worked and she took an audible swallow before continuing. "And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten. And that one day we shall join you."

She reached out with the cup at last, and in spite of everything Solona felt grateful that the words had been spoken. She took the cup in her hand and stared down at its dark contents.

This was it. The moment she'd dreaded ever since Elissa had asked her if she wanted to become a Warden. It had taken her a long time and far too much thought, but in the end, it was her choice.

She lifted up the cup and drank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to Easternviolet for betaing this beast. And thanks to everyone who is reading!


	57. Join

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elissa's mind is in chaos after Solona's Joining.

 

 _Can you protect me from what I want?  
_ _The love I let in, it left me so lost  
_ — _Mother,_ Florence + the Machine

"Join us, sister." The words felt important in a way Elissa couldn't quite explain. "Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that can not be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten." Her eyes stung with tears that didn't fall. "And that one day we shall join you," she finished, holding out the tin cup.

Elissa spared a glance at Alistair to find him looking at her. They shared a silent, understanding look, before she turned back to watch Solona.

Solona took the cup and stared down into it, her brows drawing together and her nose crinkling.

Elissa couldn't blame her for hesitating. She had done the same—had stared into the inky black concoction and felt revolted at the idea that she was going to actually take a sip of it. Thinking of how Alistair had called her name and pleaded with her to  _just drink it_  in a tone both gentle and insistent made something in her chest swell. She had been so grateful for his compassion.

Solona needed no prodding, however, for she lifted the cup to her mouth and drank, pulling a face almost immediately. Elissa's quick reflexes prevented the cup from toppling out of her hands when she threw back her head and her eyes went white. "Alistair!"

He was there in an instant, reaching out to grasp Solona's shoulder and keep her from toppling forward on to Elissa. She had to scoot backwards to get out of his way, holding up the tin cup and praying she didn't spill the dangerous contents in all the shuffling while Alistair lay Solona back down on her bedroll.

She set the cup down as far away from her as she could, before trying to crane her neck to see around Alistair. "Well? Is she alright? Did she make it?"

Their faces were inches apart when he turned to face her. "Oh, that's right. You've never seen this," he said, and then scooted back to rest on his heels. "See for yourself."

She watched in awe as Solona's skin went from a pale, sickly grey back to its normal healthy color while the inky black veins and dark blotches that had spread across her body disappeared completely.

She looked up at Alistair with wide eyes and said in a breathy whisper, "She made it."

He grinned at her, his own eyes gone wide as well. "You did it."

 _Thank the Maker._ Overcome with relief and joy she forgot herself and threw her good arm around Alistair, pulling him into a hug. He didn't hesitate to hug her back, squeezing her to him in what would have been a perfectly lovely embrace if not for the shooting pain the action elicited.

"Ouch," she said, pushing him away and wincing.

He sat back, looking chagrined. "Ahh, sorry about that. I'm just so sodding relieved."

Elissa rubbed her shoulder and looked down at Solona. "I know what you mean."

Solona appeared to sleep peacefully so far, and looked for all the world like a perfectly healthy adult—like nothing untoward had ever happened to her. Elissa knew the peaceful sleep would not last long. It was only a matter of time before Solona experienced her first bona fide darkspawn-inspired dream. She wondered if it would be any different, given Solona's rare magical abilities.

"You know," Alistair said in that teasing lilt she'd grown to miss, "the way we did her Joining using our blood and all? We're… kind of like her Warden parents now."

She could not prevent the guffaw that burst out of her. Her hand flew to her mouth to cover it, before she pulled it away and raised one eyebrow. "So from whom does she get her proclivity for profanity?"

His grin spread. "Oh, that's all you and that temper of yours, I'm sure of it."

She chuckled again, feeling her face grow warm like it always did when they were flirting.  _Wait. Are we flirting?_

Just then a voice called out from beyond the tent. "Is she alright? What happened?"

They shared a knowing smile. "She's fine, Leliana." When the tent flaps rustled, Elissa glanced around the tent with a worried expression. "Wait! Don't come in yet. We need to take care of all this," she said, gesturing at the various vials, bottles and other alchemy supplies they'd used to patch together their own version of the Joining cup.

While Alistair helped her gather her things Elissa kept glancing at Solona to reassure herself that she really had survived.  _It's a miracle…_

Alistair helped her rise and then pulled the tent flaps aside so she could exit.

Leliana pushed past her to get inside, almost jostling the supplies Elissa carried. "Careful!" Elissa said, before stepping out of the tent.

Alistair held open the tent flaps for a moment after he exited, and they both watched as Leliana sank to her knees beside Solona, picking up her hand with one of her own while smoothing loose strands of hair away from Solona's face with the other.

He let the tent flaps fall closed and the rest of their companions surrounded them.

Wynne put a gentle hand on Elissa's elbow. "She's truly alright?"

Elissa nodded, feeling a bone-deep weariness that she'd been too anxious to notice before. "She is. And a Warden now. For real."

Sten stood just behind Wynne, watching with a hooded expression. He must have deemed the news true or lost interest, because he nodded to himself and walked away. It occurred to Elissa that he was still largely a mystery to her.  _I'll have to remedy that soon…_

"That is excellent news." Zevran stood between her and Alistair. "To think, you two are no longer the only Wardens in Ferelden."

 _That's right,_  Elissa thought, her heart racing all of a sudden at the dawning realization.  _What if… Solona… ?_

Before she could finish that dire thought, Alistair spoke up. "And we now have the means to perform the Joining."

 _We can Join more Wardens! It wouldn't have to be any of us..._ Elissa's mouth fell open with the realization. "You're right."

Alistair said something in reply, but she stared down at her feet, not listening. She hadn't even dared to think past Solona's survival, but now that she knew the solution worked… It felt as if her entire world had been tilted and there was nothing solid left for her to hold on to.

Alistair cleared his throat. "Hey Zev, can you maybe get Elissa a spare pair of trousers?"

Zevran chuckled. "This is not the way I imagined you getting into my pants, Elissa."

Elissa stared at him dumbly; she heard her name but was still distracted by the swirl of her thoughts.  _Something about pants._  She looked down at herself and realized she was strutting about half naked, with Alistair's shirt serving as her only clothing. Luckily it was long enough to serve as a sort of dress. "Oh. Pants. Yes. Pants would be wonderful."

Alistair and Zevran shared an amused look, and Zevran walked away with a promise to return. Wynne excused herself to return to her spot by the fire, leaving Alistair and Elissa standing outside the tent by themselves.

Elissa watched Zevran go without truly seeing him. " _Zev_?" she said, absentmindedly patting her hair with her free hand.

"Zev. Zevran. Whatever. I… probably should have mentioned it earlier… but he kind of saved your life. That arrow you got shot with was poisoned and Zev knew the antidote. Guess he's not trying to kill you anymore. Or if he is, his plan's more convoluted than I can comprehend."

"Right." Her gaze drifted back to Solona's tent while Alistair spoke.  _Has everything changed now?_ Could she… could she contemplate a different path for herself, perhaps?

She needed to be alone. Or to sit down.  _Preferably, both_. She would need a week to sort out all the implications in her head, but nevertheless her heart pulsed in her throat. If she didn't have to be the one to do the sacrifice after all… if someone else could… what might that mean for her future?

And if not her, then who?

Another realization jolted her—she was no longer simply keeping a secret from Alistair. She was now hiding information from Solona, too. She bit her lip, still staring at the tent.  _Is keeping this secret even necessary anymore?_  The impulse to unburden herself was as surprising it was sudden, but she couldn't make a rash decision—not now, after everything she'd done. No, she needed time to consider her options, time to figure out the most prudent course, time to consider whether her own happiness might not be a completely negligible factor in her strategy...

"Uh… Elissa? Are you even listening?"

"No. I'm sorry. What did you say?"

"Oh, ouch. I'm just over here baring my soul to you and you're not even listening. Way to trample on my one manly feeling."

 _Baring his soul?_ "Wait, what? I… I'm sorry! I'm just distracted. I… now that we can make more Wardens I have a lot to think about." Staring up at his handsome face, her breath caught in her throat. She swallowed. "There are so many… implications."

"Right. Like what, exactly?"

"Like, um…" She bit her lip, thinking.  _I can't tell him yet!_  She had to devote a lot more thought to this topic before she blurted out such an important secret. She could always decide to tell him later, but once told, a secret could not be untold. "Well," she said, looking around the camp for inspiration. "You know, there are lots. Like say… food!" She smiled at having come up with something, before schooling her face into a more serious expression. "With  _three_  Warden appetites to contend with, we're going to need to hunt a lot more."

"Riiiight. Food. That's… something to think about."

Her cheeks flamed with heat. "I'm sorry. Please don't be angry. I really do want to hear what you have to say. Can you repeat it? Please?"

He studied her a moment before shrugging. "Right, it's fine. I was just saying that I had a lot of time to think while you were unconscious and um, I just wanted you to know that I meant what I said back in the tent."

"You meant what you said," she repeated, trying to remember exactly what it was, but afraid to ask lest it seem like she wasn't listening back then, either.

"Yeah. About… you know just… putting the past behind us. Letting it go so we can both just… move on. You know?"

A sinking feeling settled into her gut. "Move on," she repeated, blinking up at him. "You want to move on."  _Of course he does. Who could blame him?_ "Right. That's… a logical reaction."

"Yeah. I mean…" His gaze flicked to hers and then down to his feet. "That's what you want, isn't it?"

"Right," she said, ignoring the voice that screamed in the back of her mind.  _I can't… I need to think!_ "I mean… nothing's really changed, has it?"

"Right."

"I didn't mean it like… look, I'm rather out of sorts. Can we talk about this later?"

"I don't know. I think… I think we've said everything that needs to be said, haven't we?"

 _No! Maybe. I don't know yet._ "I suppose that's true."

"Great. Friends again?" He held out his hand for her to shake.

"Right. Of course." She couldn't meet his gaze and she barely touched the tips of her fingers to his hand before she snatched hers back and turned toward her tent. It stood only a dozen or so painful feet away. "Tell Zevran to come to my tent," she said, and then, hearing the words aloud, looked back at him with a blush. "I mean to bring me the pants."

His expression was unreadable. "Right." He shrugged. "Sure."

She turned and fled, unsure how she could go from such soaring joy to such pathetic despair in such a short amount of time.

They decided to remain at the camp one last night, giving everyone a chance to rest before they rejoined their search for the Dalish clans in the morning. After she was able to clean up and get dressed, Elissa spent the rest of the day failing to obtain adequate distractions herself. Her ordinary pursuits did not hold her attention. She was able to whittle away only an hour or so on potions—the lack of any new or interesting materials to experiment with made the endeavor a chore, however. Fiddling with her crossbow and traps were equally fruitless endeavors.

Even an interrogation of Sten brought little enlightenment—she was far too preoccupied by her own dilemma to provide the mystery of his history the focus it required.

Whether she should stay the course or reveal the truth, she could not decide. There were compelling arguments on either side, and her mind churned and churned, trying to determine what, if anything, she should do differently.

As frustrating a question as it was to ponder, it beat replaying the conversation with Alistair in her head a hundred times before bed.

She was not sure she could or even should bring herself to trust this new reality. After careful contemplation, she thought of a number of scenarios where secrecy would still be beneficial. Yes, she was able to Join Solona. But what if Solona was special… or just extremely lucky? What if no one else survived the Joining? Just because it worked once, didn't necessarily mean it would work again.

 _And there might be side effects…_ She had used her own blood for the Joining. Did that mean that there was some kind of connection now between her and Solona? It was through the archdemon's taint that the darkspawn and Wardens alike heard the Blighted god's call. What if she exerted a similar pull over Solona?

The thought was a deeply disquieting one.

Also disturbing was her attempt to imagine a life after the Blight. She wasn't sure it was wise to even contemplate such a thing in case it all turned out to be some cruel twist of fate that didn't even matter in the end, but nevertheless, her thoughts kept returning to the possibilities that might arise, were she to actually survive the Blight. It was more difficult than she might've guessed.

_The things I've done…_

Could she truly change her fate?  _Do I even deserve to?_ Had she committed too many sins to veer off this path of self sacrifice she'd been barreling down?

 _What will they think of me?_  She was finally back in everyone's good graces but if they found out she'd kept this from them they might question her motivations. She would be forced to explain why she had kept this vital piece of information a secret. The thought of telling Alistair what she was prepared to do… It seemed an impossible confession to make.

But, what if she revealed this big secret, and somehow it ended up backfiring on her? The future was impossible to predict. It included dangers and pitfalls she could in no way prepare for. What if revealing the secret now wound up costing her everything later?

Perhaps it would be better to simply wait and see. That was a decision of sorts, but not an altogether satisfying one. She didn't know what to do, so the safest thing was to do nothing.

_For now._

As the evening wore on she grew uncomfortable alone with her thoughts. It was in these quiet hours, when Elissa wrestled with the monumental existential questions that seemed to define her existence of late, that she most missed her mabari. She had sent Prince off with the dwarves to protect them as they made their way back to Redcliffe. In truth, it had been a sentimental decision—one of the few Elissa had allowed herself recently. Confident in her plan but not completely certain, she'd played it safe, and sent Prince away in order to protect him.

It was not entirely ridiculous. Of all their party, Prince was the most suited for the job. He could rejoin them more easily than any of the others save Morrigan, what with his legendary tracking skills.

But she had underestimated how much she'd come to lean on the intelligent hound's soothing presence, and she missed him dearly. There was no on else she felt safe confiding in.

Perhaps it was his absence that inspired the notion, but as the afternoon melted into evening, Elissa found herself entertaining the idea that she might at least tell Solona the truth. Perhaps they could work together to ensure that Alistair didn't make the sacrifice. Solona owed her a favor—Elissa could ask for her secrecy and Solona wouldn't be able to deny her.

She had no intentions whatsoever of allowing Solona to make the sacrifice, however. Sure, the thought had occurred to her, but it only took a few moments of imagining that sort of future—a future bought and paid for with Solona's blood and soul—for her to realize it would be intolerable.

It might have been more tempting had Elissa not known all too well the guilt and shame that accompanied someone trading their life for her own. For a long time she had wondered just why it was that she had survived when so many more deserving of life had not. Avernus had answered that question for her when he told her of the cost to end the Blight. Things had started to make sense, at last.  _Mother, Rory… all those men at the castle…_ They hadn't all died so that she might go on and live a wondrous, happy life. They hadn't really saved her at all… they'd only delayed her end.

Viewed through that lens, their sacrifices made sense. But if she were to avoid that fate, then all those people had died merely so that she might live.

That was a fact she could not change, but she would not add Solona's name to that list.

 _So some other Warden then_. She started imagining how the conversation with Solona might go….  _if_  she decided to have it. She still hadn't quite decided when she started following her feet to the tent Solona and Leliana shared, some vague premise for a conversation forming in her mind.

She could see from the glow emanating from within that they had a lantern burning, so she knew someone was awake. "Solona? Can I come in?"

There was a shuffling noise, and then Solona called out, "What do you want?"

"I was hoping we might talk," she whispered.

There was a beat of silence, and then Solona sighed. "Alright, fine."

She opened the tent flaps. Solona and Leliana sat side by side on one bedroll. "Oh, you're here," Elissa said with a start, addressing Leliana.

"It's her tent too," Solona said with a shrug.

"Of course." Elissa stepped inside, letting the tent flaps fall closed behind her. "I was just hoping we could speak. In private."

Solona and Leliana shared a look.  _They are sitting awfully close to each other._ It hardly looked comfortable. Was Solona leaning against Leliana's arm or was that just a trick of perspective?  _Wait, what…?_

Their faces were flushed. Their hair was mussed… their clothing just a bit rumpled…

Elissa gasped and threw her hand over her mouth. "Maker's breath! You two… you two were…  _canoodling_!"

Solona covered her face with her hand and groaned while Leliana laughed—a happy giggle.

"Don't sound so shocked, Elissa," Leliana said, shrugging a shoulder coquettishly. "I did not take you for such a prude."

"I'm not a prude, I just don't think…" She trailed off.  _It's a good idea,_ she was about to say, but then stopped herself. How many times had she wished she didn't know the truth? How often did she regret her choice to climb the stairs that night and learn Avernus' terrible secret about the archdemon?

Did she really want to do that to Solona? Trying to fight this Blight while falling in love complicated things immeasurably. Prudence would demand that such relationships be avoided at all costs. Surely even Solona would recognize that fact, if she were to know the truth.

As Elissa stared down at the two happy women in front of her, she decided she wouldn't do that to them—wouldn't burden Solona with a secret that would only cause her misery.

Elissa shook her head and forced herself to smile.  _Nothing has changed._ "I just didn't realize. I'm an idiot. I'm sorry. I'll leave you two alone."

Solona smiled brightly. "Thanks!"

"Are you sure? You seem troubled… did you need to talk?"

The urge to escape was paramount. "Oh, never mind me. I'm just being maudlin. You two… um, well… I'll leave you to it… I mean…" She sighed and rolled her eyes. "I mean good night."

"Good night."

"'Night, Princess."

She turned to go, and then looked back over her shoulder. "I'm very happy for you both," she said, before slipping out of the tent and back into the dark.

She was proud of herself. Her voice didn't crack on the words at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Phthalo, TrulyCertain, and heroofkirkwall for looking over this and offering their suggestions. And thanks to you all for reading. Let me know what you think!
> 
> Also, follow me on tumblr if you like: thinkdragonage.


	58. Curse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elissa worries about making a good impression with the Dalish... until Alistair does just that.

 

_Be careful of the curse that falls on young lovers  
_ _Starts so soft and sweet and turns them to hunters  
_ — _Howl,_ Florence + the Machine

The ground underneath Elissa's bare feet in the secluded clearing was covered in springy, soft moss. It was warm where the sun had kissed it, and damp and cool where shadows still lingered. She pranced a dance meant to be performed over a marble floor and not the dirt of the Brecilian forest, dressed in her Grey Warden armor instead of a ball gown. Her memory of the dance was complete, however, in spite of how long it had been since she'd danced it. As she performed she closed her eyes—behind her eyelids she could see the other dancers that would have completed the pattern she traced over the spongy vegetation. The swell of music filled her ears and her head bobbed along, her arms and legs moving in the graceful swaying motion that characterized Ferelden ball dances.

They'd taken a break from hiking for lunch, and Elissa had wandered off to pick elfroot when she found the little clearing. She was so absorbed in the melody and her steps that she didn't notice the buzzing at the back of her skull until it was loud and close. Her head jerked toward the source and she froze, one arm raised high and the other held behind her back.

Alistair stood at the edge of the clearing, shadows hiding his face.

"Oh." She dropped her arm and twisted her hands in front of her. "You caught me, um…"

He stepped into the light, a smirk playing at his lips. "Dancing?"

She averted her gaze, embarrassed to be caught in such a silly act. It was a little ridiculous that the sight of him should cause her breath to feel short, considering she'd only just seen him a little while ago, and yet his presence never failed to elicit a surprising range of emotions from her.

"I suppose I just had an impulse. Did you recognize the dance?"

"Dance wasn't a subject we studied at the monastery."

"No, of course not. I… wasn't assuming. It's just…" She took a deep breath and let it out. "It was the Remigold."

"The Remigold…?"

"Yes, you remember, don't you? You said you would put on a pretty dress and dance the Remigold…"

"Ah." At last, his frown fled, replaced by a knowing smile. "Yeah, that."

Relief flooded through her in a heady rush. She cocked her head to the side and played with a loose strand of hair. "I could teach it to you if you wanted."

He shook his head. "Better not. Leliana sent me looking for you because she thinks a Dalish clan might be near. She saw signs of their hunters. Best to not wander off alone."

"Oh, I see. Some other time then," she said, shrugging a shoulder.

His expression remained unreadable. "Right."

"So I'll… I'll just get my boots," she said, looking around, unsure why her stomach felt suddenly like it was twisting in on itself.

_There._  She darted to where she'd left her socks and boots.

She thought of another topic as she pulled on her socks. "That reminds me… I wanted to talk to you about meeting the Dalish. I'm a bit apprehensive."

"For good reason. They can be wary of humans, or so I've heard."

"That's precisely my concern. I was hoping when we meet them that you could be the one that talks to them."

"Me? Really?"

"Yes, well, I think my conversational style can be a bit… off-putting." She paused, and it lasted only the span of a breath, but when Alistair didn't say anything it felt eternal. She straightened after donning her boots. "Knowing me I'll say something insulting and get us all kidnapped."

He hesitated, his expression still guarded, until at last a smile twitched at the edges of his mouth. "Right, that's…" He seemed to catch himself. "Sure, I can do that."

She took the few steps required to bring her within reaching distance of him. "Good. Perhaps we can avoid a cross-cultural incident after all."

"Right."

"So, you do the talking, and I'll stand quietly in the background. If I see any evidence of inbreeding or baby-eating I'll keep it to myself."

At last she elicited a reaction other than polite friendliness. His eyes went wide and his mouth fell open, but then his gaze landed on something behind her and he froze.

Elissa turned to see what caught his eye, irked at the interruption.

On the other side of the clearing stood three elves, their arrows trained on Alistair and Elissa.

She raised her hands.  _Did they hear the part about baby-eating?_  "Maker's breath," she swore under her breath.

"Outsiders," the female elf in the center of the trio called out, managing to sound both challenging and hostile with just one word. "What business have you here?"

"Hello, you're Dalish, right? My partner and I are Grey Wardens. We've come seeking the aid of the Dalish clans. We mean no harm."

Alistair managed to sound both confident and nonthreatening with his casual, friendly tone, and Elissa relaxed, certain she'd done the right thing by asking him to do the talking.

The three elves exchanged guarded glances. All were dressed in the same style of armor—if their simple leather skirts even qualified as armor. The men were bare chested save for a few straps of leather crisscrossing their torso that held their shoulder guards in place. The female elf wore the straps as a sort of breast band, leaving a wide expanse of her midriff exposed. She stepped forward into the sunlight, revealing a face decorated with the filigree tattoos Elissa had heard so much about but had never seen up close. They covered her forehead, cheeks and chin. "Grey Wardens? How do we know you're telling the truth?"

Alistair gave a little laugh. "You get a lot of people going about pretending to be Grey Wardens in these parts, then?"

Elissa frowned. "I'm sure they don't."

He shot her a sideways glance that made her fall silent.

The sunlight shining on the elf's hair made it glow like gold. "That's true," she acknowledged, no trace of humor in her tone. "Maybe I should bring you two to the Keeper and let him decide for himself."

"That'd be perfect!" Elissa said, letting her hands drop. "Let us just gather our things and get the others—"

The three elves had started lowering their bows, but at the word  _others_  they aimed them again. "Others?" the lead elf asked sharply, her gaze darting around the clearing. "How many do you have with you?"

Elissa's hands shot up again and she shot a fearful glance at Alistair.

He gave a reassuring smile, while still holding his hands up high. "There's five more… so seven in all."

"But we're not all Grey Wardens. We've got some mages and a qunari with us…" Elissa trailed off as the elves' faces darkened.

"Look, I understand why you're wary," Alistair interjected. "How about this? You take me with you as… collateral. And then my partner goes back to our companions and brings them back here."

"You're letting them take you hostage?" Elissa spoke in a harsh whisper. "Are you crazy?"

"It's alright," he said, not taking his eyes off the elves in front of them. "Trust me. Just stay calm, alright?"

The three elves deliberated in voices too quiet for them to hear. At last, the female one stepped forward again. "Leave your shield and weapon behind."

"Of course," Alistair said cheerily, while slowly and carefully unsheathing his sword and handing it over hilt first to Elissa.

She looked up at him with wide, frightened eyes as she grasped the sword, but he averted his eyes as he pulled the shield off his back and pressed it into her hands.

The elves' arrows followed him as he got close, until he turned around and faced Elissa. He gestured with his chin in the direction of camp. "Go on, Elissa," he said. "I'll be fine."

Not trusting herself to speak, Elissa nodded and darted off, the knot in her stomach growing tighter with every step.  _He'll be fine_. Certainly better than she would be as a hostage. Her face warmed again as she remembered her insulting joke. Vowing to be more careful in the future, Elissa rushed back to camp.

She explained what happened to the others and felt both relieved and encouraged by the fact that she didn't need to belabor the severity of the situation. They rushed into action, gathering their things and following Elissa back to the clearing. In a matter of minutes they stood before Alistair and the three elves.

"Ah, there we are," Alistair said, his tone bright and cheery in spite of the fact that the elves still aimed their arrows at him. "Just as we said."

"I see that,  _shemlen_ ," the elf replied, narrowing her eyes as she took in all the companions. "Disarm yourselves and I'll take you to the Keeper."

Elissa had suspected such a maneuver and had warned everyone to conceal at least a dagger somewhere on their person, just in case. Wynne and Solona had tucked a dagger into a boot. She herself had four. There was no telling how many weapons Leliana and Zevran had stashed on them. They all made a show of tossing their visible weapons onto the ground.

Sten was the only one who hesitated, but at last he plunged the point of his sword into the soft earth. One of the male elves knelt and gathered up the scattered weapons, wrapped a rope around the bundle and tied them together neatly, before strapping Alistair's shield to his back. When he stood, he nodded and the other elves gestured at Alistair to start walking.

They set off, silently following the elves and Alistair into the Dalish encampment.

Elissa's pulse was throbbing in her throat as she followed, hoping the Dalish Keeper was a more reasonable sort than the hunting party.  _They're not savages,_  she told herself.  _Forget all those dark rumors._ She knew logically that they were false, but she couldn't help feeling worried as they strode into the camp and every pair of eyes settled on them.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name," Alistair said to the woman walking next to him.

"I didn't offer it."

"Oh. Right. Well, as I said before, I'm Alistair. Maybe you could give me your name and I'll be able to call you something other than 'hey you'?"

Elissa held her breath, but the elf seemed to actually relax at Alistair's tone. "Mithra," she said simply.

"Pleased to meet you, Mithra."

As they walked through the camp, Elissa's attention was drawn to the number of ill and injured elves lying on stretchers. Some were clearly maimed, with bloody bandages wrapped around their torso or another appendage. Some, however, seemed far more ill than their light injuries would have suggested. It made the hairs stand up on the back of Elissa's neck the way every elf seemed to regard them with open suspicion. Something dreadful had occurred to the Dalish clan. She wondered how likely they'd be to honor the ancient Grey Warden treaties.  _And do they even have the numbers to provide much help?_

At last Mithra brought them before a tall, bald elf dressed in robes of rich green and gold. "Who are these strangers? I have precious little patience and less time to spend on outsiders today," he said, frowning at the lot of them before turning back to Mithra with an expectant glare.

Mithra seemed unruffled by the flash of anger. She stood with her hands behind her back and nodded at Alistair. "This one claims to be a Grey Warden and wishes to speak with the clan. I thought it best to leave the decision to you."

At her words, the elf's anger seemed to flee. "That was wise of you.  _Mah serannas_ ," he said with a weary sigh. "You may return to your post."

Mithra glanced at Alistair, her expression inscrutable, before bowing her head. " _Ma nuvenin_ , Keeper."

The tall elf looked Alistair up and down after Mithra walked away. "Now, allow me to introduce myself. I am Zathrian, the Keeper of this clan, its guide and preserver of our ancient lore. And you are?"

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Keeper Zathrian. Warden Alistair, at your service."

The bald elf's tattoos traced over his forehead. One side of the pattern rose as he lifted an eyebrow. "Manners? From a  _shemlen_? Interesting. What might be your mission here? Have you come to spread news of the Blight? I had already sensed the corruption spreading in the south. The existence of the Blight is not news to me."

_Let's just deliver the treaties and get out of here,_  Elissa thought, looking around nervously. She kept quiet though, and let Alistair do the talking.

"So you're aware of the darkspawn menace. That's good—" he began.

"I would have taken the clan north by now, had we the ability to move. Sadly, as you can see, we do not."

"Yes, it seems like you've had your own troubles," Alistair said, his voice sympathetic.

The Keeper put his hands behind his back. "I imagine you are here regarding the treaty we signed centuries ago. Unfortunately, we may not be able to live up to the promise we made. Follow me… this will require some explanation."

_Of course nothing is ever easy,_ Elissa thought, following the Keeper with the others as he led them through the camp. It seemed the clan had suffered a werewolf attack that injured several of their warriors and halted their migration through Ferelden. Zathrian appeared sincerely sorry. "The Blight's evil must be stopped, but we are in no position to uphold our obligations. I am truly sorry."

Alistair glanced at Elissa and she frowned.  _Let's just leave_ , she tried to communicate with her glance.

Alistair's eyes narrowed, and then he turned back to the Keeper. "Is there no way to help your men?"

Zathrian shook his head. "The affliction is a curse that runs rampant in their blood, bringing great agony and then ultimately either death or a transformation into something monstrous. The only thing that could help them must come from the source of the curse itself, and that… that would be no trivial task to retrieve."

"You know, we're pretty good at non-trivial tasks, ourselves."

_Oh, for the love of Andraste._ "Ahem," she said, loudly, and then added, "Alistair."

He frowned. "What is it?"

She waved him over frantically.

Alistair shot an apologetic smile at the Keeper. "Would you give us just a moment, please? Thank you," he said, as he walked up to Elissa and took her arm, leading her away from the others.

He stopped and let go of her arm once they were far enough away to not be overheard. "You said you wanted to make a good impression. Aren't I doing that?"

"Well… yes, you're doing fine—"

"Then what's the problem?" A sudden thought twisted his face into a scowl. "You're not thinking of abandoning these people, are you?"

She looked up at him.  _That's exactly what I was going to recommend._ She bit her lips and looked away and that of course only brought the clan's suffering into better view.  _It's not worth it, for so few people._ But when she looked again into Alistair's eyes, she could not bring herself to say the words. It was his opinion she feared moreso than even the suffering of these poor elves. That was a thought that should have shamed her to the core, if she had not given herself over to this kind of madness long ago.

"No, of course, not," she said, blinking rapidly as she tried to come up with something else to say. "I just… we need supplies. Don't forget to ask if we can trade with them."

He rolled his eyes as he turned back toward the Keeper. "I wasn't going to forget. You didn't have to call me over."

Elissa let the breath out that she'd been holding. Solona met her gaze and shot her a puzzled frown but she just gave a wan smile and waved her off.

The Keeper regarded Alistair when he returned, his eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly before he nodded. "Within the Brecilian Forest dwells a great wolf—we call him Witherfang. It was within him that the curse originated and through his blood that it has spread. If he is killed and his heart brought to me, perhaps I could destroy the curse, but this task has proven too dangerous for us. I sent some hunters into the forest a week ago, but they have not returned. I cannot risk any more of my clan."

"We'll find this Witherfang for you," Alistair said, jutting out his chin. He stole a glance at Elissa and she smiled, trying to appear happier about the situation than she really felt.

Zathrian looked as if he were sizing Alistair up with his eyes. "I must warn you that more than werewolves lurk in the Brecilian Forest. It has a history full of carnage and murder, you see—"

"Hey, so do we!"

Elissa turned and gaped at Solona, who grinned at her incorrigibly. She rolled her eyes and turned back to Zathrian, who was eying them all warily. "As I was saying… where there is so much death, the Veil separating the spirit realm from our own becomes thin, allowing spirits to possess things living or dead. But if you can indeed help… then I wish you luck."

With that thin acknowledgment of their aid, Zathrian informed them they were welcome to stay the night within the camp's perimeter and to trade with the clan's craftsman for any supplies they might need, before he excused himself to go care for the injured elves.

The group huddled together once the Keeper moved away.

"Well," Alistair said with a breathy sigh. "That didn't go too badly now, did it?"

"Not at all," Elissa said, smiling. "You did quite well… I meant to tell you—"

"Excuse me," a voice behind Alistair spoke up.

Alistair turned and a young elven woman stepped forward. She looked more delicate, somehow, than the others—perhaps her washboard abs were hidden under her form-fitting robes, Elissa mused, as she took in the woman's appearance. She held a long staff of gnarled wood.

_A mage_ ,  _then._

"Pardon me, my name is Lanaya—I am Zathrian's First." At their blank stares, she gave a shy smile. "A First is like… what you might call an apprentice, perhaps. I've been studying under the Keeper all my life." The woman seemed a bit nervous, and before Elissa could speak up to introduce them all, she went on in a rush of words. "I hope I'm not interrupting something… I was just… I am a bit curious of the outside world. Do you mind if I ask you a question or two?"

_Not right now,_ Elissa was about to say, but Alistair spoke first. "You just asked a question right there."

Lanaya's face brightened and she burst out with a laugh, before clapping a hand over her mouth. "What an odd thing to say! I mean about the outside world, of course."

Elissa frowned at the young woman.  _The joke wasn't_ that  _funny._ But she supposed her questions would do no harm if Alistair felt like tolerating them. She turned toward him with a questioning look.

He shrugged. "Sure! I don't mind. I've got a few questions myself, to be honest."

Lanaya's smile grew wider. "I'd be happy to answer them. Why don't I show you around camp while we talk?" she asked, tilting her head to the side.

Alistair glanced back at her with his eyebrows raised.

She cursed herself for being unable to think of an objection. "Of course. I'll set up your tent while you're gone."

"Thanks!" he said brightly, taking off his pack and tossing it toward her.

She caught the pack and stood there holding it in her arms as she watched him walk off with Lanaya, an unsteady feeling winding it's way up her chest.

* * *

Elissa was not following Alistair. She just happened to be touring the Dalish camp along the same general route as he and the Dalish clan's First.

She was certainly not, under any circumstances,  _spying_. For one, she never even got close enough to overhear what was said. Also for some long moments at a time she lost track of them completely—she became absorbed in studying the design of the clan's aravels once, while another time she perused the craftsmen's impressive collection of herbs with great interest. Of course, after the moment passed her head would inevitably jerk up and her gaze would scan the perimeter until it landed on two figures—one considerably taller than the other.

When her gaze sought the couple this time, she stood at the clan's fletching station, an arrow shaft balanced on her fingers. Alistair and Lanaya were standing some forty feet away, just outside the loose collection of logs that made up the fence where the elves' halla grazed. Lanaya pointed at a sickly looking halla, and Alistair approached it slowly, his hands hung loosely at his sides, palms facing up. As he got closer the beast shuddered, but acquiesced to Alistair's hand on its flank.

He methodically examined the halla. At last, he came to the animal's back left hoof, and it whined so loudly she could hear it. That seemed to solve the mystery of what ailed it. Lanaya and an older female elf assisted as Alistair removed something too small for Elissa to see from the animal's hoof.

_Of course, he grew up in the stables._ She smiled at his cleverness, feeling her chest warm at his strong and steady display of competence of late. It was a side of him she still wasn't quite used to seeing.

The warmth chilled to ice, however, as Alistair's head bent and Lanaya reached up to cup his face with her hand and appeared to whisper in his ear.

When Alistair straightened his face was red, and he coughed into his hand.

_Did she just… did she just kiss his cheek?_  The thought was so abhorrent and unexpected that Elissa forgot herself completely and stood there gaping in horror. She only came to at the sound of a sharp  _snap._ With a jolt she stared down at the broken arrow in her fist.

Varathorn glowered and held out his hand silently.

"I'm so sorry," she mumbled, shoving the arrow pieces at him and averting her gaze. "I don't know what's come over me. I… I'll pay for that of course. Along with a dozen or so more."

The sight of her gold seemed to mollify the craftsman, and once Elissa paid the man she fled his presence, moving off in an aimless direction, her head clouded.

Perhaps she was wrong about what she'd seen—it seemed preposterous that a Dalish elf—the  _First—_ would be so openly affectionate with some passing  _shemlen._

_A kind and sympathetic, not to mention handsome shemlen with an absurdly disarming way about him..._

At the very least, the two were getting along rather famously, weren't they? And even if she hadn't kissed his cheek, she did touch his face and whisper in his ear.

Elissa's face darkened.

_She's not even that pretty._  The thought wasn't as comforting as it might have been. Lanaya was a perfectly lovely woman, but somehow the fact that she wasn't an overly stunning beauty felt more threatening. If she were, Elissa could perhaps write off Alistair's attention as mere dunder-headed male lust. But, Lanaya was not so beautiful as to explain her command of Alistair's attention. That somehow seemed worse.

Her stomach churned.  _I bet she has a lovely personality._

She moved on to another aravel, this time finding herself in the middle of the clan's food preparation. An elven woman with steel grey hair tied into a tight knot was field dressing a rabbit with deft, quick movements. Elissa forced herself to watch the mundane task, just to quiet her mind.

It worked, and after a time Elissa took a deep breath and scanned the camp.

Alistair and Lanaya had moved over to the central camp cookfire where many of the clan had gathered. An older elf with braids in his hair appeared to be telling a story. Everyone was listening in rapt attention—everyone save Alistair and Lanaya. He kept bending his head so that she could whisper in his ear or he into hers. Lanaya put a hand over her mouth and appeared to laugh the last time Alistair said something to her.

She didn't want to see anymore. Turning quickly, she blinked down at the dirt at her feet, not seeing anything but blurry colors for a few seconds as she hugged her arms close to herself.

"Are you alright?"

Elissa's head jerked up and her vision focused.

A young elven woman, dressed in straps of armor similar to what Mithra wore, stood to Elissa's left, her face wearing a worried frown.

"I'm fine," Elissa snapped, scowling.

The woman cringed and seemed to shrink. "I'm so sorry for disturbing you."

Elissa's chest sank. "Wait," she said, reaching out but not quite touching the young elf as she started to turn away. "I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have snapped…" She winced, swallowing a throat that was suddenly dry. "I'm not quite myself right now."

The elf's face softened at the crack in Elissa's voice. "It's alright. I… understand, I think." She smiled, and then stuck out a hand. "My name is Gheyna. This is what humans do, right? I heard that once…"

Gheyna seemed sweet, leaving Elissa feeling even guiltier for her rudeness. She took hold of the woman's hand and gave it a firm but gentle squeeze. "Charmed, I'm sure. My name is Elissa."

The woman seemed fascinated and delighted by the hand shake, and stared at her hand for a second when they let go. Her smile faded after she looked up at Elissa, however. "I… couldn't help noticing how sad you seemed. Did you want to talk about it?"

Elissa gaped at Gheyna, unable to find words to fill her mouth.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry—"

Elissa shook her head. "It's alright. I'm just not used to… other people being so perceptive."

Perhaps that was unfair. She'd pretty much banned her companions from ever asking how she was doing, given her abhorrence for small talk.

"Oh, I guess… I guess I sympathized." Gheyna glanced over at the common fire area and her face fell.

Elissa followed her gaze, trying to determine who had caught the elven woman's eye, but it was impossible with everyone sitting so close together around the storyteller. "And which one of those elves is making  _you_  sad?"

Gheyna bent her head. "His name is Cammen."

Relieved that she'd successfully steered the conversation away from her own problems, Elissa tilted her head and studied Gheyna for a few heartbeats.  _Now here is a true Dalish beauty,_  she thought as her gaze ghosted over Gheyna's brilliant red hair and the delicate features of her face. What elf in his right mind would reject her? Elissa brought a hand to her chin and narrowed her eyes. "And why have you determined that you cannot be together?"

It was a bit of a guess, so Elissa was pleased to see it hit the mark so closely. Gheyna's eyes went wide and color rose in her cheeks. "I… I'm not sure an outsider will understand."

"Try me. I'm very smart."

Gheyna paused at that, looking unsure, but then she took a deep breath and went on. "I just can't bond with Cammen. He's been a hunter apprentice for over two years now and he's yet to slay a proper beast. Each time he's tried, something has gone wrong. Perhaps the Creators do not wish us to bond. I cannot bond with an apprentice hunter, can I?"

"Oh." Elissa bit her lip and looked away. "You're right."

"I am?"

"Yes, as an outsider I truly do not understand."

Gheyna's mouth opened and closed a few times. "Is it really so difficult? What if he never becomes a proper hunter? What will become of our family?"

Elissa eyed the woman's apparel. "Aren't  _you_ a hunter? Why do you both need to hunt?"

"Well, yes, I am… but that doesn't mean…" Gheyna sighed and closed her eyes. "Never mind. You said you wouldn't understand and it is obvious that you don't."

"I'm sorry," Elissa said, and truly meant it. "I know it's a cultural thing perhaps, but I just can't help thinking…" Her gaze drifted back to Alistair and Lanaya. "I wish  _my_  obstacles were so trivial."

She fancied she felt Gheyna's gaze on her. "You think this issue trivial?"

Elissa turned to face her fully. "Do you love him?"

"I…"

"It's a simple question…"

"Yes, I do."

Elissa shrugged. "Then support him. Help him succeed. You want him so badly… help him become the man you need him to be."

Gheyna froze as she stared at Elissa, the weight of her words taking a few seconds to sink in. "You're… you're  _right_ ," she said at last, her voice filled with breathy awe. "I didn't see it before, but you're so right! I have made poor Cammen miserable. No wonder he can't complete his hunt."

In spite of her own black mood, Elissa couldn't help smiling.  _At least someone gets to be happy_.

" _Ma serannas_ —thank you! You've helped me so much!" Gheyna reached out with her hand, her eyes shining.

Elissa took it and smiled at Gheyna's enthusiastic clasp. "I'm glad I could be of service," she mumbled, a little embarrassed at the overt gratitude and awe.

"I'm going to go speak to him right now. Thanks again!"

Elissa watched as Gheyna rushed over to the campfire and raced up to where Cammen sat. Gheyna's voice was so loud it carried over to Elissa.

"Cammen, I have been a fool! The outsider has helped me to see that I was wrong. I was wrong to throw your love away so callously."

_Maker's breath._ Many of the elves around the campfire turned to look at Elissa when Gheyna pointed at her.

If Elissa had known she would garner quite this much attention, she'd have never said anything. She looked down and then away, trying to ignore the feeling of so many eyes upon her. All of a sudden she remembered that Alistair and Lanaya had been standing nearby. Her heart leapt to her throat.  _What if Alistair overheard?_ That could be disastrous…

Her head jerked up and her gaze sought the pair. A stone settled in her stomach and sank when she saw them, still deep in conversation—as far as Elissa could tell they'd paid the commotion with Gheyna and Cammen no attention whatsoever.

Her feet found their way back to Master Varathorn's stall once again of their own accord.

"Something else I can help you with?" the old elf asked, a smile on his face.

"Yes," Elissa said, jutting out her chin and ignoring every warning her fevered brain tried to shout at her. "I'd like to see about getting a set of your hunter's armor for myself." Her gaze traveled down her own body, covered up with comparatively bulky Grey Warden leathers. "I think it'll… be more comfortable for our trip into the woods."

_What are you doing?_ The voice in Elissa's head sounded like a cross between her mother and Morrigan.

She steadfastly ignored it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: I won't lie-I'm very excited to be at this point in the story. This chapter required a POV change and a complete rewrite before it was ready, but I think we're on the right path now. Thanks so much to EasternViolet for her wonderful suggestions and comments, and thanks to you dear readers, and especially those of you who drop me a review.
> 
> Follow me at thinkdragonage on tumblr for more P&W content.


	59. Howl, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An argument has unexpected consequences.

_My blood is singing with your voice, I want to pour it out  
_ _The saints can't help me now, the ropes have been unbound  
_ _-Howl,_  Florence and the Machine

Elissa leapt, raising her daggers over her head and then bringing them down with all her strength onto the frozen werewolf's back. There was a satisfying  _crunch_ as the beast's body shattered into bloody chunks and her feet thudded to the ground. She almost lost her balance, but Solona grabbed her arm before she fell face first into frozen werewolf gore.

"I think that's all of them," Solona said.

Elissa sheathed her blades and scanned the area.

The rest of the company stood panting over their fallen foes. The wind picked up—its susurrus through the leaves now audible after the clamor of battle ceased. It cooled the hot blood that streaked across her skin, leaving her shivering.

Solona was right. They'd won.

Elissa reached into her pack for a rag with which to clean herself, unsure why she even bothered, considering she'd likely get just as bloody after the next fight. It wasn't something that ordinarily concerned her, but she usually didn't go around slashing at enemies while exposing quite so much skin, either.  _Fool,_  she thought, not for the first time that day.  _You utter fool._

Someone groaned loudly behind her. She jerked her head up at the sound, her bloody skin no longer a concern. "Alistair?"

He sat on the ground, some twenty feet away, his back turned to her.

_Oh no._ In a flash, she was at his side. "Are you alright? Were you bitten?"

He had one boot off, scraping it on the ground. When he looked up, his gaze skittered over her frame before he jerked his head away. "I'm fine. I just stepped in werewolf droppings."

She let out the breath she was holding. "Oh, thank goodness," she said, before wrinkling her nose. "And, ew."

He didn't look at her as he pulled his boot back on. "Yep."

Ignoring the sinking in her stomach, she turned around so she could address the others. "Everyone, check yourself for bites," she called out. "We need to be careful when fighting these things."

"Good thing most of us are wearing armor," Alistair muttered under his breath as he got to his feet.

Elissa's cheeks flamed with heat, but before she could think of a response, Zevran was at her side.

"If you need help, I'd be happy to inspect you."

At least she'd managed to capture  _someone's_  attention, Elissa thought as she watched Alistair stomp away. Zevran had seemed to lurk nearby ever since she emerged from her tent that morning, dressed in the hunter's armor she'd purchased from Varathorn. "I'm fine, Zev. Thanks."

"Yes? Good. But perhaps I should keep my eyes on you just to be safe."

It shouldn't have, but his outrageous flirting made her feel a little better. Some mad impulse had her toss her braid over her shoulder and strike a jaunty pose with her hand on her hip. "I can't stop you, I suppose."

Zevran's delighted laugh made her grin, but then Alistair called out to them. "Are you two coming or what?"

Her smile faded as she fell in step beside Zevran and the company resumed its journey through the forest. Alistair and Sten walked in front while the mages and Leliana followed, leaving Zevran and Elissa bringing up the rear.

_I just want to get this over with._  She still had sticky blood covering her arms and legs and as she slapped a mosquito away she thought for perhaps the hundredth time so far that morning that she'd made an enormous mistake in wearing such revealing armor.  _What was I thinking?_

Alistair had seemed more incredulous than anything when he'd first caught sight of her, a reaction that seemed logical to her now that she was out here in the bug filled forest, traipsing around practically topless.  _How do the Dalish stand this?_

Zevran cleared his throat. "It's such a pity when you make a man a wonderful meal, only to have him refuse to eat it, is it not?"

The sky above was blue and cloudless, but the large trees obscured most of the light, and Elissa wondered what might be lurking in the shadows watching them as they passed. "I don't know what you're talking about. I haven't prepared any food."

"Ah, but you have. The sight of you in your new armor is a feast for the eyes."

It took a moment for his meaning to sink in. Zevran, of course, knew exactly what was going on. Not only was she wearing impractical and uncomfortable armor, but she also had to live with the knowledge that she had failed utterly in her attempt to get Alistair's attention. He refused to even look at her.

She almost denied it, but she was exhausted by lying. "You heard Swiftrunner," she said with a sigh. "I'm a fool that knows nothing."

"I didn't realize you worried so much about the opinion of angry werewolves." When she only shrugged in response, he tilted his head to the side. "I do not think you are the idiot here, little dove."

She glared at him. "Zevran."

"Forgive me—I do not mean insult. I just mean…" he glanced toward the front of the group and then shook his head and returned his gaze to her own. "I'm afraid that the subtle approach is lost on your handsome and oblivious ex-Templar."

_Are we really talking about this?_  Elissa knew quite well where Zevran stood on the subject. Then again, she had no one else to really talk to. "You think so?"

"Well, you did let it be known that his attention was no longer desired. It's to his credit that he is respecting that wish."

It was rare for Zevran to compliment Alistair about anything, but she supposed he was right, though it was hard to admit over her disappointment. It revealed something of Alistair's character that he did as she asked and nothing more.  _Still…_

"Of course," Zevran continued when she didn't say anything, "a more direct approach would require a commitment from you that you do not appear ready to make."

She breathed a weary sigh. Zevran had succinctly described the gist of her problem. "It's sort of pathetic, isn't it? I guess I just wanted to be reassured that… that…"

"That you could still capture and hold his attention?"

The truth made her eyes prickle with tears. That wasn't exactly fair, was it? She had decided that she couldn't be with Alistair, but she didn't want him to be with someone else. "I suppose I just… took for granted that it would last."

Zevran opened his mouth to reply and then snapped it shut, frowning.

"What?"

He sighed. "My dear Warden, I believe if you decided to command his attention again he would not deny you."

It wasn't until that moment that Elissa realized how much she had feared that wasn't true. "Really?" she said, her eyes and mouth going wide. She caught herself a moment later and schooled her expression. "What um, evidence do you have to support that?"

Zevran seemed to fight a smile. "Ah, nothing so concrete, I'm afraid. Call it a hunch."

_That's not good enough_ , she almost said.  _Good enough for what?_ For her to reverse her stance on their relationship?

_Is that really what I'm contemplating?_  The dawning self awareness brought little comfort. Even if she knew without a doubt that Alistair would return her affection, could she bring herself to ask that of him?

_How do I explain why I ended things?_ She could simply say she'd changed her mind but… could she really restart their relationship and also keep her terrible secret?

Elissa gave a resigned sigh. She was not going to resolve this question today. "Thanks, Zev, but I'd rather not talk about it. We have a werewolf curse to break."

He inclined his head and gave her a small smile, saying nothing.

_Right._ Time to focus on the task at hand. Replaying the conversation with the werewolves in her mind helped focus her attention.  _You know nothing, do you?_  Swiftrunner had said.  _Nothing of us and even less of those you serve._

Elissa's brow furrowed. After another moment of contemplation, she turned to Zevran. "What is your opinion on the Dalish?"

"I know little enough of the Dalish other than the fact that my mother was one," Zevran began with a shrug. He went on to tell her a long, tragic tale of how his mother had come to be an Antivan prostitute. The conversation was not illuminating.

"But what do you think about the Dalish in general?" she asked when he was finished.

A flicker of some emotion Elissa couldn't identify flashed in his eyes and then he shrugged. "I don't feel anything about them. Oh, we heard about them in the city, even deep in Antiva. I even had the notion once to run off and join them. Naturally the reality did not live up at all to the fantasies I had constructed as a boy, staring at those gloves." He shook his head. "But such is life. Come… enough talk of the Dalish. Let us move on."

She had the vague sense that she'd somehow offended him, but she couldn't fathom how.  _I'll buy him a pair of Dalish gloves before we leave,_  she thought, happy with herself for thinking of it. Problems that could be solved with money were the easiest kind.

Of course, they had to make it back first, and so Elissa turned her attention back to the issue at hand. The more she thought about the conversation with Swiftrunner, the more uncomfortable she became.

When she could stand it no more, she strode to the front of the group. "Alistair." Some petty impulse made her wait for him to actually look at her before she went on.

At last he glanced at her. "Yes?"

"Did the Dalish ever say anything to you about the werewolves being able to talk?"

Elissa counted five paces before he answered. "No, no one said anything about that. Why?"

"I think that is strange. The werewolves attacked as revenge for something, but the Keeper made no mention of it and made it sound like the werewolves were mindless, ravaging beasts."

"What's your point?"

"My point is…" She hugged her arms close to herself, feeling chilled at a sudden breeze. "I'm not sure we can trust the Dalish clan to be completely forthcoming."

"Really? You trust the werewolves more?"

"I'm not saying that. I'm just saying… something doesn't add up."

The path they followed took them to the top of a gently sloping hill. It continued on over the river below them via a bridge made of rope and wooden planks.

"Do you think that's safe?" Leliana asked as she moved to stand by Elissa.

"It looks sturdy," Elissa said. "Though I suppose we ought to go one at a time, perhaps?"

Sten did not hesitate. He stepped onto the bridge, drawing a gasp from Leliana. "Sten, be careful!"

"If it can support me, it'll support the rest of you," he said, and then started walking.

The bridge swayed with each of Sten's steps, but it held his weight. Still, they all breathed a sigh of relief when he passed the midpoint.

Elissa wiped away the sweat on her brow. "Alright. Let's cross one at a time just to be safe."

Leliana volunteered to go next, and everyone waited and watched her cross.

"What reason would they have to lie though?" Alistair asked, his brow furrowed.

"What reason does anyone have to lie? To protect themselves, most likely."

"But we volunteered to help them. Why hide things from us? It's not like they were trying to convince us."

Solona stepped on to the bridge, after a shout from Leliana. The rest waited while she carefully picked her steps.

"I don't know," she said, peeking at the river below. It was swollen from all the recent rain. "But I will find out."

When Solona made it to the end of the bridge without incident, Wynne took her turn. Zevran shot Elissa a questioning glance once she was across.

Alistair turned toward her suddenly. "Have you considered that you might be a bit biased about all this?"

She waved Zevran on before turning back to Alistair, scowling. "Me? How am I biased? If anyone here is biased now it's you."

"What? Why is that?"

"You're the one who's spent the last day being followed around and handled by Zathrian's First. If they are lying, that'd be the perfect opportunity to fill your head with all sorts of misinformation and misdirection."

"That's absurd! Lanaya didn't do anything of the kind." He shook his head. "You know what I think? I think you're just jealous."

Her face felt like it was on fire, but the flood of shame was soon followed by a surge of rage. She narrowed her eyes and growled, "Don't flatter yourself."

It was Alistair's turn to go red. "You are. You're jealous. Lanaya is nice and pretty and she didn't have to turn her blood poisonous to get her special powers."

Elissa's mouth fell open and she could only stand there gaping at him, the heat in her blood turned to ice. At last able to move but unable to find words to spit back at him, she twirled on her heel and darted on to the bridge just as Zevran stepped off of it on the other side.

"Elissa! Wait!"

She didn't turn around, too fearful that if she did she would burst into tears. The bridge started shaking with each of Alistair's footsteps as he ran to catch up with her, and she had to reach out to grasp the rope railing to steady herself. She was just about to call on her tainted blood powers to quickly dash to the other side, when she heard a loud  _crunch_  and a  _snap_ , and then Alistair cried out, and she whirled around to look.

One of the wooden planks had broken beneath Alistair's step. His leg dangled underneath the bridge, and he'd reached out and grabbed some ropes to keep himself from going straight through.

She took a tentative step. "Maker's breath!"

"Stay there! I don't want you going through too. I just need to pull myself up."

Elissa hesitated, glancing back at the party on the other side of the ravine and then looking at the river below them. The drop was a good forty feet down.

Alistair tried to pull himself up using the rope as leverage, but the rope came unraveled as he pulled and he fell backwards on to the bridge. Another plank cracked, the two halves of wood falling to the water below. Alistair was a blur of limbs as he tried to scramble for purchase.

Elissa watched horrified as he flailed. She had to hold on to the rope railing to steady herself from all the swaying his movement caused. When at last he stilled, his body was entangled in the ropes holding the bridge together.

"Well, that's not an improvement now is it?" Alistair said with a wince.

"No, it really isn't!" Elissa took another step closer, still clutching the railing. The bridge leaned to one side from Alistair's weight and if she let go she feared she'd slide off the edge.  _What kind of ill fortune is this?_ "How are we going to get you out of there?"

Alistair managed to lift his hand in warning. "Just get to the other side. I don't think you can help me without making this worse."

She bit her lip as she glanced at where the rest of the company stood watching. Wynne had a hand over her mouth while Leliana held her hands clasped in front of her, apparently praying.

Elissa looked down at the river below. It was moving quickly, but at least it seemed deep enough that if Alistair  _did_  fall, he wouldn't be dashed on the rocks.

_No, he'll just sink to the bottom in that armor,_  she thought with a frown as she looked again at Alistair. He was wearing the silver and blue heavy Grey Warden armor that they'd found at Soldier's Keep.

"Go on," he said again.

He was right, of course, but Elissa couldn't get herself to leave the bridge. "How are you going to get out of there?" she called out, still clutching the rope railing.

Alistair looked down at himself. "Um… well… that's a good question." He shot her a grin.

Elissa wasn't fooled. "Alistair."

"Look, I'll be fine, alright? But if this bridge goes, there's no reason for both of us to be on it. Get off this thing already!"

"If this bridge goes, how are you going to swim in that armor?"

"Er…" He tried to pull himself up by grabbing on to the rope railing, but the motion just caused the bridge to sway and a rope around his waist to give a little. He dropped about a foot before he managed to grab hold of a wooden plank. Thankfully it didn't snap under his weight.

Half his body was now dangling beneath the rope bridge.

Elissa gripped the rope railing.  _He's not getting out of that mess without bringing this whole bridge down._  She looked back at the others. Solona and Leliana were waving her over. She shook her head and turned back to Alistair. She was about to yell out that he should try to kick off his boots, when her tainted blood began buzzing so intensely that a wave of nausea washed over her.

She met Alistair's gaze with wide eyes. "Darkspawn," they said in unison.

Solona was yelling at Elissa but she ignored her, scanning the horizon on the other side of the bridge as the buzzing and nausea intensified. A trio of genlocks crested the hill. They shouted and drew their bows when they saw Alistair and Elissa.

She dropped to her hands and knees to avoid the first volley of arrows, and then a streak of ice passed over her head and one of the genlocks froze in place.

She started crawling toward Alistair, pulling herself along by gripping the edge of each wooden plank.

"No," he shouted. "Elissa, get to the other side and then I'll take out this bridge."

"With you on it? Are you crazy?"

"I'll be fine. I'm a strong swimmer."

"In plate armor?"

" _Elissa_."

Another volley of arrows struck the bridge and they could hear shouting from the other side. At least a dozen more of the monsters joined the genlock archers at the top of the hill.

Alistair hunched behind the shield on his back the best he could. "Elissa,  _please._ " He stared at her unblinking, hazel eyes gone wide under his furrowed brow. "Just go."

A hurlock stepped on the bridge, making it sway again. Screams from the other side of the bridge grew louder, but Elissa ignored them. She met Alistair's gaze with a steady one of her own. "I'm not leaving you."

Alistair's mouth fell open. He studied her face for a few breaths, before his mouth snapped closed and his jaw worked as he must've realized she was telling the truth.

The hurlock was getting closer, and a few more had joined it on the bridge. It would be a matter of moments before it reached Alistair.

"I'm cutting you out of there," she said.

Just then an ogre crested the hill, its footfalls reverberating through the ravine like thunder. The voices from the other side were shrieking now, but Elissa ignored them.

Elissa crawled over to Alistair, keeping as low as she could. She unsheathed a dagger as she examined the ropes.

The hurlocks must have realized their intention, for they gave a guttural cry and started running.

_There._  A taut rope wrapped around Alistair's leg—if she hacked it, the ropes would unravel and the bridge would collapse in half. She raised her arm to strike, but then her stomach dropped and her swing went wide when the bridge unexpectedly swayed underneath her.

Her bare midriff scraped against the wooden plank as she scrambled for purchase to keep from sliding over the edge. "Ah!"

Alistair's hand closed hard around her wrist, jerking her to a stop. He pulled her toward him while the bridge shook from the hurlocks running toward them.

The lead hurlock was three strides away. "Elissa!" Alistair yelled.

She hooked an arm around Alistair. They stared at each other with wide eyes for a heartbeat before Elissa lifted her blade and brought it slashing down on to the rope connected to Alistair's leg.

She was right—the ropes slithered apart with a whistling hiss as the entire system unraveled.

Alistair let go and crushed her to him—she could feel the muscles of his arm cord with tension around her waist as the bridge came undone. When the last rope slid away her stomach flipped over at the sudden drop, and then the world went rushing by and she screamed into Alistair's chest as the churning water below rushed up to meet them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: Big thanks to both Easternviolet and Phthalo for taking a look at this chapter for me. Their suggestions and comments have greatly improved my work!


	60. Howl, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, we discover what happened to Elissa and Alistair after falling from the bridge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: Welcome back to Poison and Wine! So, my absence of three months was totally not supposed to happen. Apologies for leaving everyone hanging (kind of literally in the case of Elissa and Alistair!). I had planned on publishing 2 chapters in December, but I decided to publish this first one a day early. So, look for 1 more chapter in December and 2 in January, and hopefully I can stay on that schedule in the new year. I have 3+ chapters written already, so I think this is doable. Hope your Thanksgiving (if you celebrated) was excellent!
> 
> Since it has been so long, here is a brief synopsis of recent events:
> 
> Elissa and Alistair split after Elissa discovered the truth about killing an archdemon from Avernus. The group fled Denerim the night of Arl Howe's party, after Elissa betrayed Darrian and stole the antidote from him, leaving him behind in the Arl's dungeon. Morrigan left to bring the antidote to Redcliffe, while the dwarves, Sandal and Bodahn, also left for Redcliffe, with Elissa's mabari Prince accompanying them.
> 
> Solona discovered that Alistair is Maric's son, and let slip this information to Magister Aurelian in the Fade. He turned on her when Solona refused to give up Alistair for whatever plan the magister has for him, and Solona has avoided Aurelian in the Fade ever since.
> 
> While in the forest, the group was ambushed by Marjolaine's forces. Elissa took an arrow to the shoulder for Leliana and in the process discovered that her blood has changed to be 'extra tainted' by Avernus' potion. Solona healed her but became tainted in the process and would have died if Elissa hadn't figured out that she could do a Joining using blood from her and Alistair. Solona survived.
> 
> They met up with the Dalish clan and Elissa tasked Alistair with speaking for the group because she was worried about making a good impression. Alistair was well received, especially by the Keeper's First, Lanaya. Elissa became jealous while watching Lanaya and Alistair together, and made the impulsive decision to buy and wear a set of revealing Dalish armor, hoping to recapture Alistair's attention (it didn't work).
> 
> After meeting Swiftrunner and learning that some werewolves could talk, Elissa shared her suspicions about the Dalish clan with Alistair, suggesting that they weren't telling the whole story. They argued, and Alistair accused Elissa of being jealous of Lanaya. She ran across a wooden plank and rope bridge, and when Alistair followed he broke a plank and got stuck dangling from the bridge. Darkspawn showed up a moment later, and Elissa, worried that Alistair would drown in the river in his heavy plate armor, cut the ropes and destroyed the bridge, plunging Alistair and herself into the river below.

_If you could only see the beast you've made of me  
_ — _Howl,_ Florence + the Machine

For a person who loathed making mistakes, Elissa had started to make an unconscionable number of them. When exactly this bad habit began could be debated. Certainly the trend took hold while they were in Denerim, though enough evidence existed that one could argue that it started even earlier.

As she plummeted toward the water, however, a more recent and urgent miscalculation bothered her conscience. That is, in all her concern for how Alistair might survive the plunge into the rushing waters, she had not spared a moment to wonder how she would do the same. But as she smacked into water that yielded to her weight less willingly than she'd prepared for (in a less fraught moment she'd have been curious about the physics involved) it became apparent to her that she'd overlooked a rather glaring problem.

She did not have time to dwell on her failure, however. The shocking cold water took Elissa's breath away—she let go of Alistair the moment they smashed into it and it was all she could do to keep from gasping. As she descended into the murky water, she spent a few panicked seconds trying to figure out which way was up. At last she righted herself and kicked toward the light. When she broke through the surface she only had a moment to suck in a grateful mouthful of air when a dark shadow crossed over her.

 _A hurlock!_  She tried to dart out of the way, but couldn't move in time to avoid the thing's booted foot. It slammed into her right shoulder, sending sparks of pain all the way down her arm and forcing her back under the water.

Her shoulder was dislocated—she was sure that was the cause of her searing pain, but if she didn't move she'd drown. Biting her cheeks she tried to swim with one arm, but the hurlock grabbed at her waist and dragged her back down. Panic shot through her—she reached toward the wavering light and kept kicking her legs, desperate to get to the air the surface promised, but her strength was fading and she knew she wasn't going to be able drag herself up with the hurlock holding on to her.

The monster seemed more panicked than hostile, and it occurred to her that the thing probably had no idea how to swim. If she could just slip out of its grasp, she wouldn't have to kill it—the water would do that for her. She went limp and the monster's weight dragged them further down into the water. The hurlock panicked and let go of her waist to try and grab on to her neck, and that was all the opening she needed. She called on her tainted blood powers and kicked off the monster's body to swim away from its grip.

She was right—for once in her new Maker-forsaken life she was  _right_ —the thing flailed stupidly in the water, but without Elissa to hold on to it sank like a stone.

All she had to do now was make it to the surface. Her limbs felt impossibly heavy as she once again reached toward the wavering light. Black spots formed at the edges of her vision and her lungs burned.  _I'm not going to make it._

Just when she thought she would not be able to hold her breath for another second, she felt something grab her wrist and yank. The shock of it outdid her, and she gasped and swallowed a mouthful of water just as she broke the surface. Sputtering coughs, she clawed at whatever had dragged her up, terrified of sinking back into the water. After a few seconds she became aware that someone was yelling her name over and over.

She opened her eyes and saw that she was clutching at Alistair's neck, who was doing a rather commendable job keeping them both afloat.  _His armor isn't weighing him down at all._  She loosened her grip but didn't let go entirely, unsure that she could stay afloat by herself.

"Just go limp," Alistair yelled into her ear, and without questioning the order, she obeyed. He hooked his arm under her armpit, and hauled her with him, floating more than swimming on his back. The waters calmed when they rounded a bend and the river widened. It was still a fast current, however, and there was no easy place to disembark. She wasn't sure how long they floated until Alistair gave a shout and pointed with his chin to a grassy bank that seemed possible to climb. She was impressed at how he managed to pull her along with him as he swum toward shore—it made her wonder if the Templars practiced water rescues in their training, and then it occurred to her that with all the silly legends about drowning mages, that very well might be the case.

All thoughts of his educational background fled her mind once she felt her knee hit the river's bottom. The two of them clawed their way out of the river and collapsed on the wet grass.

The two of them sat there in silence watching dead darkspawn float down the river, until Alistair cleared his throat. "Well, that was… something."

 _I am a fool._  She'd risked her life in an effort to save Alistair, only to wind up needing rescuing herself. Of course, she should have had more sense.  _How would he be able to fight if his armor were that cumbersome?_ "You… you might've mentioned that your heavy armor isn't actually that heavy."

"Would you have believed me if I had?"

"Yes," she said, trying to ignore the heat creeping up her cheek. Alistair's grin turned into a full fledged smirk, so she looked around, eager to change the subject. "How far did we come downstream? Do you think the others saw us?"

He studied her face for a few seconds, and something in his gaze made her feel oddly exposed (well,  _more_  exposed). She struggled to stand up to cover her embarrassment, but the moment she tried to push off the ground she collapsed with a cry of pain.

"Easy there," he said, crawling over to her and placing a warm hand on her good arm's elbow. "Where does it hurt?"

"It's my shoulder," she said through gritted teeth. The pain wasn't so awful when she hugged her arm to her chest. "I think… I think it's dislocated…"

"Let me see."

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She was familiar with the method of popping a shoulder back in place and had even watched a healer in Highever do it once to a poor peasant who'd fallen from the second story of a barn. She'd been fascinated even then by the healing arts, but at the time she'd hadn't really stopped to contemplate how it might feel for the patient to go through such a procedure.

His hands were warm against her shivering skin, and when he cradled her elbow with one hand and started massaging her shoulder with the other, she was pleasantly surprised by the gentleness of his touch. Their position brought his face close to hers and she could see drops of water bead on his furrowed brow.

"Try to relax," he said.

Slowly and methodically, he managed to work the shoulder back into the joint after only a few minutes of concentrated massage.

The relief from the pain making her feel near giddy with happiness. "Where did you learn that method?" she asked when he was finished.

"It's a neat trick, isn't it? Had a healer at the monastery teach me. Lots of rambunctious boys wrestling and climbing over things all the time meant he had his fair share of dislocated shoulders, sprained ankles and the like to tend to. I suppose he developed a more gentle treatment over the years." He frowned in concern as he got to his feet and held out his hand to help her rise. "Better now?"

She was enjoying his attention so much that she was almost tempted to exaggerate the pain.  _Maker, Elissa. Where is your pride?_ Instead, she nodded and gave him a grateful smile as she took his hand and got to her feet. She was sore but the sharp pain had eased. "It's better now, thanks." She let go of his hand reluctantly and looked around. "We should still gather this elfroot though and make a potion." Bending to pull out one of the hardy roots made her hiss with pain before straightening. "I could use a sling."

Alistair gave a nod and then started to unbuckle the chest piece of his armor.

Her eyes went round. "What are you—"

"You need a sling right? And we need cloth to make one… and you uh… don't really have a stitch to spare now, do you?"

"Oh, right," she said, looking away. She could hear his fumbling with the buckles. With a sigh, she turned back. "Here, I'll help."

She could only work with one hand, but they'd done this routine enough by now that they could wordlessly cooperate. At last, his metal chest piece and shoulder guards fell to the ground with a  _thunk_.

He pulled the dripping wet gambeson over his head and wrung the water out of it, before setting it aside and pulling his thin undershirt over and off.

The muscles in his arms tensed as he ripped the wet cotton shirt into strips. He was still soaked from their swim and Elissa was mesmerized by the drops of water that traveled the soft down of his chest and over the planes of his stomach.

It was rather silly, really. What made pectoral and abdominal muscles so attractive anyway? They were just muscles, like any other in the body. There was no reason for it to be so difficult to tear her gaze away from his naked torso.

"Enjoying the view?"

She gaped at him, horrified, before snapping her mouth closed and looking away. It was best not to dignify his question with a response, she figured.

His chuckling did nothing to cool the flames she felt licking her cheeks, but he didn't say anything else, mercifully, until after he'd helped her slip her arm into the sling. "Better?"

"Yes, thanks," she said, still not meeting his gaze. "We should head north to try and catch up with the others."

"Alright." He bent over to pick up his discarded armor, and used his wet gambeson as a sort of satchel to wrap up the pieces.

She almost asked him whether he was really intending to go around half naked, but snapped her mouth closed when it occurred to her how hypocritical that would be. "Ready?"

"Yeah," he said, and then ran a hand through his hair. "Actually, wait… before we move on… about what happened back there, by the bridge—"

Her blush deepened. "I thought you'd sink! I didn't know you'd be able to swim like a fish in that armor."

Alistair's eyebrows rose. "That's… not what I'm talking about."

"Oh."

She'd almost forgotten the spat that had kicked off her latest round of misery, but at his words the memory came roaring back.

" _Lanaya is nice and pretty and she didn't have to turn her blood poisonous to get her special powers."_

"Look, I just… I'm sorry. I was an ass. I lost my temper and I… I have no excuse. But none of this would have happened if I hadn't been such a git."

"Oh. I... see."

He frowned, his gaze trained on something in the distance. "I know you're not jealous of Lanaya. That was a cheap shot because… because I didn't want to believe you. I guess I just wanted to believe… that she really liked me." He shook his head and met her gaze again. "But, you're right, of course. You're always right, aren't you? Zathrian probably asked her to keep an eye on me."

Her chest ached to hear his disappointed tone. "We don't know that."

"It makes sense doesn't it? Zathrian thinks I'm our group's leader because I did all the talking."

Elissa felt torn—Alistair's dejection was intolerable, but at the same time she felt little compulsion to defend Lanaya. Still, she hated that look on his face. "There's no evidence that Lanaya is complicit in any wrongdoing. Zathrian might know more than he lets on, but… I'm sure Lanaya's interest in you was genuine. How could it not be? You're very appealing."

Once the words were out she wished she could suck them back in like the mouthful of air she'd gasped after almost drowning.

Alistair's mouth curved into that smirk she found so impossible. "Appealing?"

"It's just an observation," she said with a sniff. "Don't get excited."

"I'll try to contain myself."

His deadpan tone set her cheeks on fire, yet again. She didn't respond, but simply turned around and started walking.

The day turned muggy as they picked their way through the forest. Keeping the river at their left, Elissa figured they'd sense Solona soon enough, and they'd be able to navigate their way back to the rest of the group by following the pull of her blood.

She wasn't sure how long they'd been walking when Alistair stopped and looked around with a groan. "Alright, I admit it: I'm glad you're here with me."

Warmth spread from her chest to her limbs at an alarming rate. "Y-you are?"

"Yeah. I need someone to tell me whether or not I'm going crazy. Is it just me, or have we passed this same sodding boulder three times now?"

He turned and gestured and Elissa was thankful he could not see the look of disappointment that spread over her face at his words. It took her a few seconds to take in the scene before her, but when she did her apprehension made her disappointment evaporate into genuine curiosity. "You're right. This isn't far from where came ashore. How is that possible?"

"Don't ask me. I have no idea."

"Swiftrunner told us the forest would take care of us." The gentle breeze made goosebumps appear on her exposed skin. "It must be some kind of enchantment… a magical ward of some sort." She heaved a sigh. "I hope the others are faring better."

"They'd have to work hard to do worse," Alistair muttered, and then suddenly cocked his head to the side. "Do you smell that?"

"Smell what?"

He turned to look behind him, and when he did Elissa saw a flickering glow that could only be a small, controlled fire, some fifty feet away from them through the trees.

They shared a look. Alistair shrugged. "I don't sense Solona."

"Neither do I. You don't suppose werewolves make campfires do they?" The darkspawn often did, but Elissa didn't sense any of the corrupted creatures nearby. "Zathrian said he sent hunters into the forest. Perhaps it's them?"

"Or it's bandits… or some kind of trap."

"I'll sneak up on them and see."

She half expected him to protest, and found herself irritated when he didn't. Annoyed with herself, she shook off the notion and concentrated on moving silently through the trees until the small campsite came into view. It was nestled into the side of a hill, with a few large boulders providing shelter on either side—they were lucky to have even spotted it. She spent a good ten minutes scouting the area, but it was deserted. At last she called out to Alistair and he joined her by the fire.

There were two clean and dry bedrolls lying on the ground, along with a canvas tent. The fire had mostly burned down to embers, but a few yellow flames still licked at the largest blackened log.

"Odd that the campsite is just abandoned like this," Alistair murmured as the two of them stood there, warmed by the fire. "You know, I doubt we'll find a better place to camp before it gets dark."

Elissa's eyebrows rose as she looked around. Shadows cast by the towering boulders were deep and purple, and the last of the sun's rays didn't descend past the tops of the trees. Had they really been walking that long? It hadn't seemed like it, but she'd been too preoccupied with her own anxieties to be very observant about where they were headed or how long it took to get there. The reality was that they weren't going to find their companions in time to make camp with them.

They were on their own.

"What if whoever was camping here comes back?" Elissa said, lowering herself to the ground nonetheless.

Alistair added another log to the fire. He gave a shrug before sitting down on the bedroll next to hers. "We tell them the truth and hope they're friendly."

Elissa yawned and felt the stretch through her entire body. "Well, maybe they're dead," she said, rubbing her eyes. "Maybe the werewolves got them."

"Maybe."

The warmth of the fire made her eyelids heavy, and before long Elissa caught herself nodding off.

"Go on and rest. I'm not tired."

She could hardly argue with such an inviting offer, so she curled on to her good side and drifted off to the Fade.

* * *

Judging by the darkness, it was several hours later when she woke. The firelight made her squint. She sat up and as her eyes adjusted, she saw Alistair sitting on the bedroll next to her. He held something in his hand that dangled from a long chain. The bauble at the end twisted back and forth, reflecting the light of the fire.

Elissa's eyes went wide when she recognized what he held. After a few more moments of silent deliberation, she tilted her head to the side and asked a question she already knew the answer to. "What have you got there?"

Alistair kept his gaze trained on the necklace. "It's a symbol of Andraste."

 _I can see that,_ she almost answered, but held herself in check. "Where did you get it?"

"Leliana gave it to me."

When he didn't elaborate, Elissa stifled a growl of frustration. She cleared her throat. "Oh? Did she purchase it in Denerim, or…"

"I don't know. I think she found it lying on the road somewhere."

Elissa's eyes and mouth went round.  _How could she?_ Shehad specifically instructed Leliana to tell Alistair that the bauble had been found in the study! "What? Leliana was supposed to say that—"

His lips twitched and he cocked his head to the side. "What was she supposed to say?" he asked, a knowing glint in his eye.

 _Maker's breath._ "Oh. You… you…" she stammered out, feeling her face warm yet again that day. "You tricked me."

His eyebrows rose, but his tone was mild when he spoke. "Tricked you? Are you suggesting that I'm not telling the truth? I'm shocked. Utterly shocked, Elissa."

Even she could tell he was being sarcastic. She could think of no response that would salvage her pride, so she elected to stay quiet, scowling at the fire.

Alistair chuckled. "Alright, alright. Yes, Leliana gave this to me and told me that  _she_  found it in the Arl's study." When she didn't look up, he went on. "But, as I recall, you were the one who spent the most time in there. Seems a lot more likely to me that if there was something to find there, you'd be the one to find it."

When he was finished talking she hazarded a look at him. He was staring at her expectantly. She rolled her eyes. "Alright, yes. It was I that found the amulet in the study. Happy now?"

His expression turned bemused. "Alright, I'll bite: why?"

"Why what?"

"Why put Leliana up to giving this to me? Why not just give it to me yourself?"

"Because," she began, staring at her hands in her lap, "we weren't exactly on speaking terms at the time and I just thought… I know how important that thing is to you and I didn't want it to become tainted by association." She looked up at him with a wince. "With me."

"Oh." His expression turned thoughtful again, and it made something in Elissa's chest tighten. "You know, I'm more used to people not really listening when I go on about things." He shook his head. "But the thing is… I don't remember ever actually telling you about my mother's amulet."

"Oh. You didn't? Are you sure?" He gave her a look at that. "Right. It's just… I overheard you and Leliana talking about it a long time ago. Back when we were in Lothering."

"I see." His expression remained guarded. After a few more breaths he spoke again. "So you've had this since Redcliffe?"

"Yes."

"So then…"

She gave a sigh that came some place deep inside of her. It seemed there was no way to avoid it. "Why did I hold on to it for so long?"

"Yeah."

"Well," she said, drawing out the word and then taking a dramatic breath of air. "It's kind of ridiculous actually."

"Wait, hold on." He held up one hand and cocked his head to the side. "Warden senses are tingling…"

She frowned, looking around the campsite. "I don't sense any darkspawn."

"Nope, it's not darkspawn I'm sensing."

"Then what is it?"

"I'm sensing… an embarrassing confession."

He had her there. She rolled her eyes. "Do you want to hear it or not?"

"I do. Please. Go on."

She took a deep breath and then looked down at her hands. "I used it to talk to my mother," she said, and then looked up immediately with a horrified expression. "Not literally! I'm not… conversing with spirits or demons or anything like that."

He looked like he was fighting a grin. "Alright."

"Right," she said, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "Anyway, like I said it's ridiculous. It's… it's nothing like anything she ever owned so I'm not sure exactly why it worked but… for some reason, when I held it, I was better able to imagine her voice and have a… a conversation with her, I guess."

"You miss her."

"I really do," she said, exhaling loudly and feeling her eyes start to warm with tears. "She was the only one I ever really… she just… she knew how to explain things and I just… Yes. I miss her."

Alistair stared at her, lips parted and eyebrows drawn down, before nodding to himself and sliding closer to her so he could hold the amulet out for her. "Here," he said. "Take it."

Elissa placed a hand over his, shaking her head back and forth. "No, no, I couldn't. That's your mother's—"

"But if it helps you…"

"No. Knowing you have it… that helps me."

Their faces were only inches apart. She licked her lips and saw that Alistair's gaze flicked to her mouth and back to her eyes. It didn't feel entirely of her own accord but Elissa found herself leaning ever so slightly forward. Alistair bent his head…

…only to shout "Elissa!" right in her face.

 _Why is he shouting?_  "I'm right here. What?"

"Elissa! Elissa!"

Someone was shaking her. She opened her eyes to discover Alistair kneeling next to where she lay, his face covered with streaks of blood and his hand clasping her good shoulder. "Finally!" He let go of her and sat back on his heels. "You're awake."

"What?" She sat up frowning, disoriented by the change of light. Looking around, she gasped. A steaming corpse of a greater shade demon lay at her feet. "Maker's breath!"

"Yeah. The thing attacked almost as soon as you fell asleep. I guess I was right—this camp was a trap. Looks like the demon's been here awhile."

Elissa saw what he meant: their cozy camp was littered with whitened bones and their cheery campfire was now a pile of cold ash. She made a noise of muted disbelief. "It… wasn't real?"

"Ah, no… sorry." He looked around, still panting, before turning back to Elissa with a sympathetic wince. "Take a moment if you need it."

She couldn't answer—couldn't even look at him. "I'm fine," she croaked, getting to her feet and blinking back tears. Alistair probably thought she'd dreamed of her family, and the fact that she hadn't gave her despair a guilty twist. "Let's... let's get out of here. I don't want to stay here."

He didn't object, and together they searched the campsite for supplies before heading off again to try and find the others.

The dream had left her shaken and alone, with the taste of ash in her mouth and the knowledge of two certainties: It wasn't real, and she was an utter fool for thinking it could be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to EasternViolet for betaing this for me and offering such great suggestions and fixes.
> 
> Oops, meant to add a little about swimming in plate armor. I went back and forth on this issue, after doing some research and thinking about what the Grey Warden heavy armor looks like. A full plate armor suit can weigh 35 to 50 lbs, but the one Alistair is wearing isn't completely metal (search Grey Warden Heavy Armor to see what I mean). I guessed it would be on the lighter side of that figure. In addition, he'd be able to fully articulate his arms in this armor, as opposed to the tin can looking full suits of plate armor that I've seen people try to swim in. 
> 
> Also, it's Alistair: a man in peak physique who grew up next to water. If anyone could pull it off, it'd be him.
> 
> Still not convinced? Then let's just say he had a +5 swimming enchantment on his chest piece and leave it at that ;)


	61. Howl, Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair and Elissa continue their journey through the forest, searching for Solona and the others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the December chapter for you-expect another one after the new year! Huge thanks to EasternViolet for her beta skills. Thanks to everyone for reading and reviewing! I love to hear your thoughts. Also feel free to follow me on tumblr at thinkdragonage.

 

 _A man who's pure of heart and says his prayers by night_  
_May still become a wolf when the autumn moon is bright  
_ — _Howl_ , Florence + the Machine

The walk from the enchanted camp was a quietly miserable one. Elissa's shoulder ached. They had no real destination. All they could do was head north and hope to run into the others eventually. The sky turned overcast, and the threat of rain cast a gloomy pall over the woods that dampened both their spirits and their will. Even Alistair fell quiet, choosing to stroll purposely ahead of her while forgoing his usual habit of narrating every moment. She missed the constant chatter. Without it, she had only her thoughts to keep her company.

Those thoughts did nothing to improve her mood, and turned more black and bitter with every step. The dream she'd had in the enchanted camp had left her aching with longing, and yet she could not in good conscience convince herself that alleviating that longing wouldn't be a selfish and foolish mistake.

And yet, she kept escaping to that moment… a moment that  _wasn't even real_ … where Alistair's face had been so close to hers…

 _It was just a dream,_  she told herself for the hundredth time that day. It did nothing to lessen her suffering, but it felt important to remind herself that her conversation with Alistair was a product of the Fade and nothing more. That the demon had tortured her with the dream of him instead of her family gave her misery a guilty edge that was as familiar as it was unwelcome.

They'd walked at least an hour when Alistair stopped and turned toward her, his eyes wide. When he brought his finger to his lips, she looked around, surprised that he had managed to detect something moving in the forest before she had. Clearly, she was thinking too much—it was dangerous to be so distracted.

It took a few seconds, but then she heard it, too—a rustling in the underbrush. They both turned to look, and she caught sight of something grey and white behind the green."Werewolves," she whispered.

The rustling sounded from behind them.

"Stand back to back," Alistair intoned, and she didn't hesitate to obey. She drew one of her daggers with her good arm, though she was unsure how much help that would be.

The rustling noises were all around them now. They were surrounded by foes that they couldn't quite see—she could only estimate their numbers by the sound and glimpses of grey fur she caught between the trees, but she reckoned there were at least a half dozen of the beasts. She gulped. Even one-armed, she wouldn't have minded facing them if she had access to her pack filled with potions, grenades, and balms—but she'd lost it in the tumble into the river. It didn't help that Alistair was also missing his shield, and was still carrying most of his armor bundled in his wet gambeson.

Behind her, Alistair called out, "Come on, show yourselves!"

 _What is he doing?_ She didn't think antagonizing them was the answer, but the beasts stepped out of the shadows, and she jerked her gaze back to the creatures who were coming closer.

If these monsters could talk, they chose not to, but she suspected they didn't have the capacity. Unlike the talking werewolves they'd met earlier who walked on their hind legs, these creatures walked on all fours, even though their front "legs" looked more like human arms that ended in elongated hands. She counted ten of the creatures circling around them.

Her stomach clenched.  _Ten… against two._ She had to do something to even the odds. The werewolves were going to pounce on them at any second unless she found a way to scare them off.

She froze when she realized how she could do it. "You, uhh…" She wasn't sure what to call the creatures ( _beasts_?  _wolves_?) but then, if they were as rabid as they appeared, it probably wouldn't matter. Still, she had to try. "Listen to me," she called out, trying to sound authoritative. "If you value your lives, stay back."

The werewolves snarled, their lips curling back to reveal huge, yellowed fangs that dripped with foam.

Elissa wondered if she was making them angrier, but pressed on anyway, certain that she had no other option as outmanned as they were. "I mean it!" she yelled, trying to mask her fear with bluster. "You think you're cursed? If you fight us, you'll be tainted… and whatever hell you're going through now will seem like paradise."

"I don't think they understand," Alistair said under his breath as the werewolves started snapping their jaws. The circle grew smaller.

"Then I'll make them understand." She pushed her sling aside with a grimace, and held her dagger to her forearm. Taking a deep breath, she prepared to gash open her arm.

"Stop!" Alistair turned and grabbed at her hand holding the dagger. "What in the Void are you doing?"

She looked up at him in shock. "I'm trying to save us!"

With both of their attention occupied, the wolves had an opening. One lunged at Alistair with a throaty growl. He turned, but couldn't lift his sword in time to strike before the creature barreled into him, knocking him to the ground. The two rolled over in the dirt as Elissa screamed.

She was just about to lunge onto the werewolf's back when it suddenly yelped and leapt away from Alistair. It sniffed the air, and then lifted its snout to the sky and howled. The other wolves joined in, and their cries made the hairs on her arms stand on end. Just as quickly as it began, however, their monstrous song ended and the wolves ran off.

Elissa stood there frozen with her dagger in hand while Alistair got to his feet. The forest quieted—the only noises were the rush of the wind through the trees and her own, rapidly-thumping heart.

"What… the… fuck?"

Her eyebrows rose. Alistair usually seemed embarrassed by Solona's overreliance on that particular word, so it was a bit odd to hear it drop so readily from his lips. Still, she understood the sentiment. "That made no sense."

He sighed in exasperation, before sheathing his sword. "This is the weirdest place I've ever been in."

It was the most they'd spoken since leaving the enchanted camp. "Oh, now you've done it," she said with a smirk, before sheathing her dagger. "You've just ensured that we'll wind up some place even weirder by nightfall."

Her attempt to elicit a laugh failed, for Alistair just looked at her with a scowl. "What were you thinking? Using your blood as a weapon? We're Grey Wardens. It's our duty to fight the Blight, not spread it."

Blood rushed in her ears.  _How dare he?_ Didn't he know she was just trying to save him? Her black mood bubbled over into sudden rage. "Don't talk to me about duty," she spat out. "You have no idea how well I understand what my duty is."

His frown deepened. "What's that supposed to mean?"

She had no desire to elaborate on that point. Instead, she waved her good arm in the air and raised her voice. "I had to do something! We were no match for them and I couldn't let them kill us. If we die, what do you think will happen to Ferelden? Solona would be the only warden left. Do you think she can do it alone?"

He stared down at her for a few breaths, before his shoulders slumped and he looked away. "Alright… I guess… I guess you have a point." A few more heartbeats passed, and he gave out a weary sigh. "Come on. I want to catch up with the others before it starts—"

A blast of thunder cracked the sky, followed by a torrential downpour a second later.

"… raining."

"Come on," she shouted to be heard over the rain. "Let's find a cave or something. We have to get out of this."

They set out looking for something, anything, that might serve as shelter until the storm passed. Elissa would have sworn that they had seen a half dozen crooks and crannies before that they could've ducked into, but now that they really needed one, she saw only trees and flat ground in every direction. Could her luck get any worse?

_Best not to ask that question._

By the time they found a suitable shelter they'd been stuck in the downpour for at least an hour, and there was little light left to guide them. At last, their luck changed and they practically stumbled into an opening in a hillside that led to a small underground cavern. It appeared someone had used the cave in at least the last few months—not only was there a blackened fire pit in the middle of the deepest and widest section of the cavern, there was also a collection of dry kindling and firewood.

Elissa could have cried with relief, and once Alistair had the campfire crackling merrily with the flint and steel they'd scavenged from the other camp, she sank to the ground in contentment. The warmth felt heavenly after shivering for half the day.

With their new supplies she was able to make a weak elfroot potion that took most of the ache out of her shoulder and removed the need for her sling. She pocketed the cloth, figuring they might need it for bandages in the future.

Her stomach growled, but she tried her best to ignore it. Running a hand over her head, she winced. She'd begun the day with her hair in a neat and tidy braid, but now whole chunks of it had fallen out of the plait and she could feel dozens of knots when she explored it with her fingers.

Having nothing else better to do, she decided to unbraid it and try to comb out the worst of her snarls with her fingers. She set to work and after a time lost herself in the tactile labor.

After working through one section, she happened to glance up at Alistair and was surprised to discover him staring at her. He looked away too quickly.

Elissa's eyes widened.  _Sure,_ now  _he notices._

Still, it felt better than she could ever put into words to feel his eyes on her again. Ordinarily she found the stares of men annoying or disturbing, but Alistair had always been such a shy gentleman about stealing glances at her around camp and on the road that she'd never minded, and in fact, had grown to adore it. He'd glance away, embarrassed at being caught, at first, and then later, he'd just smile knowingly and she would have trouble concentrating on whatever task she'd been up to prior to catching his eye.

It was something she took for granted, and then it was gone and she hadn't even realized how much all those little glances had meant to her.

She couldn't help herself—the urge to milk the situation for all it was worth was far too tempting. Pretending to be unaware of his scrutiny, she got to her feet and shook her head, running her hands through her hair with her eyes closed. It  _did_  feel good to try to shake some of the more knotted bits loose, so she wasn't pretending entirely.

Keeping her gaze averted, she started working on another section, enjoying the hitch of breath from Alistair that her actions elicited. Stealing a furtive glance at him out of the corners of her eyes, her face and chest warmed when she realized she'd captured his attention fully.

After a few moments of basking in his gaze while she worked on her hair, she frowned at her feet. She couldn't help thinking once again of the conversation they'd had in the Fade about his mother's amulet. Knowing it was likely a mistake but unable to resist the impulse any longer, she met his gaze. "Can I ask you something?"

His gaze traveled up her form to meet her eyes and then he shrugged. "Sure."

She pursed her lips and looked away, hesitating, before taking in a deep breath. "Did… did Leliana give you something she found in Redcliffe?"

When she looked back at him, he was staring at her again, but  _not_  at her eyes. He noticed her attention and tore his gaze away from her body to look at her face. "Uh… yeah? She found an amulet of my mother's… I guess the Arl kept it."

She smiled to herself, looking down at her hands as she played with a lock of hair. "Good." She bit her lip, unsure exactly how she wanted to proceed. When she spoke again it was in a long rambling stream of consciousness. "That's the important thing, isn't it? That you… that you have it. And you know where it was found. The Arl… he must have saved it for you and repaired it. That's good." Still not meeting his gaze, she took a hard swallow and frowned at her hands. "The thing is—I'm not sure how this will sound or if it… if it even  _really_  matters in the grand scheme of things, but the thing is—it's just that I should probably tell you the truth. The truth… that's a good thing, right?"

She looked up at last, but this time, Alistair's gaze did not meet her own. In fact, he didn't even seem to be aware that she was looking at him. He was staring again—lips parted and eyes roaming everywhere  _but_  her face.

It was a bit shocking. Alistair had never been so obvious before. And he'd certainly never been so blatantly rude. She was torn between feeling flattered at the attention and annoyed by his distraction. "Have you heard a single word I've said?"

He seemed startled by her direct address, and finally met her gaze. At the realization that he'd been caught ogling her, his face reddened, which brought Elissa no small sense of satisfaction. The feeling evaporated a moment later, when he suddenly got to his feet, brushing off his pants and not meeting her eyes. "I, uh, I have to get some air."

He moved toward the cave's exit as Elissa stared after him, gaping. "What are you…? It's still raining! You'll get soaked."

He didn't turn back—just turned his head and spoke over his shoulder. "That's uh… I'll just… go to the entrance…"

Elissa blinked in confusion. Before he could take another step, she darted to him and grabbed his arm. "What's the matter?" she asked, moving to put herself between him and the exit.

"Nothing," he deflected, looking away. "I just...if I don't get out of here right this second, I'm afraid…" He met her gaze and his jaw clenched. "I'm going to do something stupid."

Her heart thundered in her ears. There was less than a foot between them, and she kept her hand on his arm. "Like what?" she said in a breathy whisper as she gazed up at him.

They spent one heartbeat teetering on some unspoken edge, before Alistair spoke, his voice low and rough. "Like this."

He brought his hands up to cup her face and then brought his lips down onto hers in a swift and hard kiss.

For a few seconds she couldn't even breathe, let alone move. But then the feel of his mouth pressed against hers and his warm hands on her face overcame her shock and she couldn't stop herself from wrapping her arms around him and kissing him back. Before she knew what was happening he lifted her up by her ass and turned to press her against the wall of the cave. His hands—gentle hands that had always reached for her reverently if not hesitantly—were rough and demanding, and it took him no time to press her leather armor up to expose her chest.

His lips roved over her neck as his hands cupped her breasts. She could feel his hardness pressed against her and his breath was hot on her skin. But, even while she wrapped her legs around him, reveling in the sensations that she so dearly missed, a part of her brain nagged at her.

_This… isn't like him… this is strange…_

_No… don't… shut up, brain…_

But she couldn't quiet those voices, so she broke the kiss and pushed against his chest. "Alistair, wait."

He pulled back just far enough to look at her. "What is it?"

"We should… we should probably talk about… this."

He frowned and looked away, before turning back to her, jaw set. "You don't have to explain it. I get it. It's fine. I don't care," he said, and then leaned down and kissed her again.

His mouth was warm and insistent and she couldn't resist kissing him back for a few seconds, before her brain caught up with her. She pushed against him again, frowning in confusion. "What… what do you mean you don't care?"

His breath was hot against her skin as he spoke, their faces only inches apart. "I mean… it's alright. I know you don't feel the same way I do. I don't… I don't care. I still want it to be you."

She blinked up at him. "You do?" she whispered, feeling her eyes sting with sudden tears. The question that had plagued her recently had been answered and it made her throat close up and her chest warmed.  _I know you don't feel the same way I do._ He was utterly wrong about her but but she couldn't even begin to form the words to tell him that, so instead she pulled him to her again and kissed him, hoping against hope that her kiss could say enough.  _I can tell him after…_

He pressed her against the wall and then his hand traveled underneath her leather skirt and between her legs.

" _Maker's breath,"_ she panted as Alistair's lips grazed her neck and his fingers pulled her smalls aside.

 _Wait._ This was… too fast. She needed to think, but she couldn't with his hands on her. "M-m-move your hand."

She should have said  _remove,_ she realized as Alistair started moving his fingers in a circle against her sex. Her head knocked back against the wall of the cave and a low moan escaped her before she was able to gather her wits again to stop him. She grabbed his hand. "Alistair, s-s-stop."

For a brief moment she wasn't sure if he'd understood, but he finally took his hand away and pulled back to look at her, his half-lidded eyes dark with lust.

She started stammering. "We should… I mean… I really need to tell you something before…"

His gaze strayed to her mouth as he brought his fingers to his nose and sniffed them deeply before closing his eyes and putting them in his mouth.

Her eyes bulged.  _What the…?_ This was most definitely not like him. There was something animalistic about the way he sniffed his fingers. The thought shot a tendril of dread through her chest.  _Wait…_

His kisses and hands had felt like they were searing her skin, she realized, and without a word brought her hand up to Alistair's neck. Her eyes widened. "You're burning up."

"Am I?" he said, bending his head to nuzzle her neck with hot kisses.

Closing her eyes, she fell silent as he resumed his exploration of her neck and collarbone with this mouth.  _How is he so good at this?_ she thought, before giving out a sharp cry of pain.

He had sank his teeth into the flesh of her shoulder. At her cry, he snapped back, seeming as shocked as she was. "I… uh…"

"You bit me!"

"I… I don't know why I did that."

She turned her neck to look at her shoulder. His teeth had broken the skin, and a red half circle appeared.  _What is going on?_ "You  _bit_  me!"

_The werewolf backed away when it got close to Alistair._

The thought made her eyes go wide again, and she turned to stare up at him.

_His temper… oddly short all day... Fever. Mood swings… aggression._

Her breath hitched. "Alistair… have you… have you been bitten?"

"What? No, of course not." He lowered her gently to the ground before backing up and running a shaky hand over his face. "I mean… I do feel kind of… strange."

Elissa pulled her leather chest piece back over herself as she blinked rapidly, trying to think. "The werewolf who knocked you down… he didn't bite you, did he?"

Alistair shook his head. "No! The thing ran off before it laid a fang on me. I swear it!"

The memory of Alistair pulling on his boot sprang to mind. "What about the werewolves we fought before the bridge? Swiftrunner's group?"

He rubbed his neck. The lines between his eyebrows deepened. "I… I don't  _think_ so…"

The knot forming in Elissa's stomach grew tighter. "We need to check you for bites. Take off your pants."

"Right  _now_?"

"Well, I mean…" She shook her head, trying to ignore the furious blush that crept up her cheeks. "You can roll them up to check."

He stepped over to the fire, and she walked around him, looking for any sign of an injury. They found it when he rolled up his left pant leg—it was barely a scratch, but the veins around it were a dark purplish color. She sucked in a breath. "That looks infected," she said, bending down to touch the area with the tips of her fingers.

He hissed in pain. She looked up at him in surprise and he shook his head. "Didn't hurt until you touched it. I had no idea…"

"Alright, alright," She said, her heart racing in her chest as she stood up. "We can deal with this. We need to get some elfroot… if we can get some valerian or maybe passion flower I can brew up a decent sedative."

Alistair clutched his stomach, bending over at the knees with a groan. "I… I don't think we have that kind of time."

"What? No! It took the elves days to turn… you were bit what? This morning? You're fine!"

He fell to the ground, landing on all fours. "Elissa," he croaked. "You need to start running."

Her throat felt like someone was squeezing it. "No! No, no… you have to have more time!"

He shook his head and then his body spasmed with another wave of pain. "It doesn't matter if I should." He looked up at her with pleading eyes. "I don't have more time. You  _have_  to get out of here."

She gasped.  _The taint… it must be the taint._ "The curse is accelerated because of the metabolic properties of the darkspawn taint. That must be it!"

"I… I don't know what that means, but you need to run now!"

He was right, but her legs felt like they were made of stone. She watched, horrified, as Alistair writhed on the cave floor, moaning in pain. "This can't be happening!"

"Elissa!" He yelled again, and when he looked up, his eyes had changed to a bright yellow hue. "Run!"

If she didn't move, he was going to kill her. She darted to the opening of the cave, before looking back one last time. He was still on all fours, his eyes closed tight. She could see beads of sweat glistening on his forehead in the firelight. She gulped. "Try to fight it as long as you can."

Alistair's back arched, and he threw his head back and howled, before his skin started rippling with strange, moving bulges. She knew she needed to run, but the sight of his handsome face morphing into a long snout was as paralyzing as it was horrifying. His body twisted in on itself, and as he thrust out his arms the skin peeled away revealing brownish-red fur—his hands elongated and his nails grew out to become claws.

He howled again as his back legs transformed and at last she was able to move. She turned, calling on her tainted blood powers, and dashed out of the cave as fast as she could. The rain mixed with her own tears as she tore through the forest blindly, hearing Alistair crash through the woods behind her in his pursuit.

* * *

Elissa's heart thudded painfully in her chest and her lungs burned, but she didn't dare slow down. Alistair was behind her, his pursuit of her relentless. It felt like they'd been running for hours. She prayed that they'd catch up with the others soon and that Wynne or Solona might be able to subdue him.

She had no idea what she would do if she couldn't find them.

Her foot caught on an exposed root and she crashed to the ground, hitting her knees hard on the dirt and leaving her stunned for a few precious seconds. The racket in the woods behind her let her know she didn't have time to catch her breath, so she tried to ignore the way her knees ached, and pulled herself to her feet somehow.

A werewolf with reddish-brown fur burst out of the trees and then froze when it saw her, a low growl emanating from the beast's throat as it stalked toward her.

 _No, not a beast. Alistair._ He was about ten feet away from her, and she could see by the way his muscles tensed that he would leap at her in the next second. Calling on her tainted blood powers yet again, she dashed away out of his range.

She could only use her powers for short bursts of speed, but it was enough to give her a head start. The hair on the back of her neck stood up when a howl rang out from behind her. An answering chorus sounded from the woods and panic robbed her of the ability to think. She ran with no thought toward where she would end up, or what she would do once she was no longer able to keep running.

A hill rose in front of her and her pace slowed as she climbed the steady rise. The crashing noises behind her grew closer, and she was forced to once again call on her tainted blood so she could crest the hill. Running down the far side of it helped her build up some speed, but Alistair had the same advantage, and by the time she'd reached the bottom, he was practically upon her once again.

 _How is he so fast?_ Her blood felt positively alive in her veins from how often she called on her newfound powers. When she called upon them this time, however, it cost her. She felt strangely drained, and her vision tinged with red. When she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and pulled it away there was a streak of blood on her skin.

 _Maker_. Was there a limit on how many times she could call on her blood before she did some real damage to herself? That was a question she had never thought to ask before, and now the oversight felt significant. What would happen to her when she reached her limit? The blood on her hand didn't smoke, at least, and just looked like normal, red blood. What that meant, she couldn't begin to fathom. She could barely think at all. Her focus was spent on one goal: putting one foot in front of the other to stay ahead of the werewolf that pursued her.

More howling rang through the forest, and the answering howl from Alistair was loud and close.  _Too close._ He was gaining on her, even with her increased speed and supernatural boosts. Once again, she streaked ahead. She had to blink away red tears after, and an aching weakness spread through her limbs.

She wasn't going to be to keep running much longer and that sobering thought made her want to scream out in frustration.  _What am I going to do?_ The only whisper in her blood came from behind her—thankfully she could sense where Alistair was at all times, which helped her stay ahead of him. Where Solona and the others had gone, she had no clue. She couldn't sense Solona at all.

She was running out of hope and energy in equal measure. No matter how many times she called on her blood powers, she could not put any real distance between her and Alistair.

_I can't let him kill me._

She slid down an embankment, made slick with mud from the rain, which had only just stopped. She was soaked, sore, and bleeding from innumerable scrapes with tree branches and rocks in her mad scrabble to get away from Alistair in the dark. Her vision was tinged in red from using her blood powers so much, and she felt a bone-deep ache in her muscles.

_I'm running out of time._

She clenched her teeth to keep them from clattering as she half-ran, half-slid along the muddy gully. The sides was too steep for her to climb, so she was forced to run along the bottom until she found a place to escape.

 _If_  she found a place to escape… She was starting to panic that she'd led herself straight into a dead end when her worst fears were confirmed. The gully ended in a small valley—the sides of it too steep to be climbed.

She ran to the center and then whirled around, expecting Alistair to crash against her back at any second.

He had caught up to her, but he slowed his pursuit so that he could slowly stalk around her on all fours, a low growl emanating from his throat. She drew her blades and kept him in her sight as she slowly rotated with him, thankful that she at least had the use of both arms now.

That gratitude was tinged with despair, however.  _I'm going to have to kill him._

"Alistair, please. Try to fight this… you don't want it to end like this."

He paused, and for a moment she felt a sliver of hope.

"I don't want to have to kill you, and I know you don't want to kill me. And I… I can't let you kill me," she said, her eyes watering and her throat raw. "If I'm dead… then I can't end this Blight. Do you understand?"

His snarling growl answered her question, and she could not help the choked sob that tore out of her. She brought the back of her hand to her eyes and wiped away the blood and tears.

Alistair crept closer, his lips pulled back from his slavering jaws.

She took a step backward. "Alistair, please—" she started to say, and then cried out when her heel slipped and she fell backward into the muck.

He was on her in two leaps, and then his face was inches from hers—she could feel his hot breath as he loomed over her, a low growl rumbling in his chest.

How could fate be so cruel? She'd worried so much about Alistair surviving the Blight… and now he would not survive  _her._  Her chest ached with heartbreak.  _I should just let him kill me,_  she thought, gripping the handle of her dagger. But… that would be even crueler to him, wouldn't it? He wouldn't want her to let him kill her, and knowing that was the only thing that kept her from dropping her dagger, closing her eyes, and letting death take her.

Her vision blurred with pink-tinged tears. "Ali, I'm so sorry," she whispered. "I love you." She opened her eyes and sniffled. "I have always loved you," she confessed in a choked sob, wishing against all logic that he would hear her and understand. "I love you more than anything… but I can't let you kill me."

Wishing wouldn't help. As she gripped her dagger and prepared to end the life of the one person in all the world that she wanted to save, she was filled with one last certainty:

Life was utterly and cruelly unfair.


	62. Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solona has to decide how honest she can be with Leliana.

_There's a ghost in my lungs_  
_And it sighs in my sleep,_  
_Wraps itself around my tongue,  
_ _As it softly speaks_

— _I'm Not Calling You a Liar,_ Florence + the Machine

Solona had to admit that there was at least one advantage to Elissa and Alistair being gone: there was a lot more food to go around. She smacked her lips and sighed, before throwing the last rabbit bone into the crackling campfire.

_Well, two advantages._ She was also grateful that she didn't constantly feel like scratching out the back of her neck. She'd read plenty about the taint in her youth when she'd been obsessed with the order, but nothing could prepare her for the reality of her blood coming alive under her skin at the presence of another tainted creature. As much as she worried about her warden pals, she couldn't help enjoying the relief from that particular constant annoyance.

She didn't dare express that thought aloud though—not with Leliana sitting next to her staring morosely into the fire. It hurt watching her favorite person be so unhappy. "Listen," Solona said, leaning closer to her. "We're going to figure out how to get past that magical barrier tomorrow. Those werewolves we fought got through, so there's gotta be a way." She put a hand on Leliana's shoulder. "And we're going to find Elissa and Alistair, too. They're both too damn stubborn to die."

Leliana's lips twitched and she put a hand over Solona's before meeting her gaze with those crystal blue eyes of hers. "I know. It can't be the Maker's plan to take them from us now."

"Right," Solona said, taking her hand away and turning back to the fire. After a beat, she raised an eyebrow and shot Leliana a smirk. "So, was it part of His plan to dump those two in the river?"

"You tease, but how do you know it isn't? How do you know Alistair and Elissa aren't right where they are supposed to be, according to His plan?"

"Maybe you're right. Maybe right now, they're sorting each other out… and giving us a break from all the drama at the same time." She nodded to herself, raising her eyebrows. "Not bad, Maker."

Leliana rolled her eyes but didn't seem to mind her joking blasphemy. She wasn't like the sisters Solona remembered from the Tower. _Not at all like boring old Lily_ , she thought, wrinkling her nose. In spite of her sincere devotion to the Maker, Leliana remained one of the most fascinating people Solona had ever met. That she could be both so competent and kind… well, that was pretty damn refreshing to her after surviving both Neria and Aurelian.

They sat there in companionable silence, listening to the crackling fire and the gentle noises of a forest in the middle of the night. The others had gone to bed not long ago. Zevran still had his own small pup tent while Sten, who ordinarily slept under the stars, had taken over Alistair's tent. Wynne got to enjoy the tent she normally shared with Elissa all to herself.

They'd had a long day of traipsing through the forest, looking for Elissa and Alistair. The magical barrier they'd run into meant they could neither continue the search for the other wardens or the pursuit of Witherfang. The pack of werewolves they'd spotted had gone through it, however, and so they'd had no choice but to follow. She and Wynne had spent hours trying to dispel the enchantment, to no avail. They'd finally called it a night and settled their camp not far from the barrier, with the intention of trying again in the morning.

Solona was worried about Elissa and Alistair, but she had told the truth—she was certain they would find them. She couldn't believe they were dead, though that had more to do with her larger-than-life view of them than any faith in the Maker. She didn't want to think they were dead anyway. That would make her the group's de facto leader, and that was a role she had no desire to adopt.

Leliana's sharp intake of breath drew Solona's attention away from her own thoughts. "What is it?"

"I just had an idea—I can't believe I didn't think of it before." She put a hand on Solona's thigh. "Why don't you go in the Fade and look for them? One of them is probably sleeping now. You could talk to them and find out where they are!"

A pit formed in Solona's gut. She shook her head. "No, I can't do that."

Leliana's brows drew down together. "Can't? Or won't?"

_Fuck me._ It was both, really, but she couldn't exactly explain that to Leliana. She had yet to tell anyone about Magister Aurelian. "I told Elissa… my powers are off limits."

"Elissa isn't the one asking you. I am."

The look on her face made Solona's stomach twist. "Look, I can't, alright? I just… can't." An idea sprang to mind. "It's not my fault! It's the taint. It's interfering with my dreamer abilities."

Leliana studied Solona's face. "Really?"

"Yes! It's… the damnedest thing. But I can't do Fade stuff anymore."

"Why didn't you say anything before?"

Solona started to sweat. _She's not buying it._ "I don't know… I didn't see a reason? It's… not the worst side effect of being a warden, you know?"

Leliana's eyes narrowed. "I see."

Solona felt a blush start to crawl up her cheek. _Fuck._ It was obvious Leliana didn't believe her, but she was sort of committed now. Why did she attempt this half-assed lie, anyway? She was so stupid. "Yep," she said, feeling defeated. "It's pretty fucked up."

The silence after that felt weighty and awkward, and Solona wasn't a bit surprised when, a moment later, Leliana got to her feet, not meeting her gaze.

"I'm going to check the perimeter," she said, and then walked away without a look back.

Solona sighed and stared into the fire. _Well, that was fun while it lasted._

* * *

Even before Aurelian reached out to her in the Fade to teach her the basics of her _somniari_ powers, Solona had figured out the essential quality that would make her less susceptible to the tricks and temptations offered by demons in the Fade: unflinching self awareness. While she could lie to others easily and adeptly at the drop of a hat, she took care not to lie to herself. The demons in the Fade could always discern her most deeply held and secret fears… the entire process was much less dangerous if those fears did not come as a surprise.

She had thus always tried to be brutally honest with herself, even if she couldn't bring that integrity to her other relationships. So, when Solona woke the next morning feeling like a pile of mabari shit, she knew she had to reassess.

Leliana wasn't speaking to her—in fact, she hadn't even come to their tent last night. Solona suspected she'd opted to bunk with Wynne instead. That hurt.

Sure, Solona had been expecting everything to fall apart eventually—that's how her relationships always went. At some point, anyone she'd ever gotten intimate with would press too hard and she'd push them away. She had secrets she couldn't share, and that would always wind up biting her in the ass in the end. It was just the way things were.

And yet… if this were so expected, she shouldn't feel quite this bitterly disappointed, should she? She had to admit to herself that deep down she had hoped it would be different this time. She glanced over at Leliana, who was rummaging through the belongings of the crazy old hermit they'd been forced to kill. The dappled sunlight filtering through the trees made her red hair shine and her freckles-and-cream skin almost seemed to glow. It made something in Solona's chest tighten.

_Fuck._

This was no casual Tower dalliance, was it? The memory of Leliana's face coming into view after Solona woke from her Joining sprang suddenly to her mind.

_They locked eyes for a heart beat, and then Leliana crushed her lips to Solona's in a demanding kiss, answering several of her questions at once… but not all of them. She gently pushed back on Leliana's shoulders and the other woman pulled away just far enough to meet her eyes._

_Solona narrowed hers. "So… I take it you're not still mad?"_

_Leliana pulled further away so she could sit up. "Oh," she said, and then coughed into her hand. "I wasn't certain if you were going to remember all that…"_

_Solona sat up, feeling a little giddy from both the kiss and the welcome lack of pain. "'_ You and I will discuss your assumptions about me later,'" _she said, affecting an Orlesian accent. "Kind of hard to forget when someone stomps off after delivering a line like that."_

" _Yes, well… it's possible I overreacted." Leliana tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "It's just that… I've come to enjoy your company so much." She looked down at her hands, and Solona couldn't help admire the length of her auburn lashes. "I treasured the nights when we stood guard together, talking to pass the time in those small hours… Well, I talked and you listened, mostly." She smiled slyly before her expression turned more serious. "So I thought… I thought we had something more than friendship. But then… if you so easily mistake my intentions with Alistair…" Leliana's plump lips curved into a frown. "Then perhaps I was fooling myself, and imagining a closeness where it didn't exist."_

_Solona's breath was doing something strange in her chest and her heartbeat was in her ears. "You didn't imagine it, Leliana. I'm just a complete idiot, is all."_

_Leliana tilted her head to the side, twisting a strand of her hair with her fingers. "Oh, is that so?"_

" _Yes," Solona insisted. "I just… I just got jealous and leapt to conclusions. Not because we don't have something… just because I thought…. I figured there was no way you'd ever want someone like me."_

" _Someone like you? You think I have poor taste? Is that what you're saying?"_

_Solona's lips twisted into a grin. "Well, not anymore," she said, reaching out to brush aside a strand of Leliana's hair that was falling into her eyes._

Solona's eyes stung at the memory. _This is the worst._ She wanted to do something to patch things up with Leliana, but what could she do? She couldn't tell her the truth, could she?

Just then Leliana straightened. "I've found the acorn. Let's go."

The others fell in line behind her as she stomped off in the direction of the talking tree they'd discovered earlier that morning. With a sigh, Solona followed, her head bent and her heart feeling heavy.

"What's going on with you two?" Wynne was at her side, looking up at her with a worried expression.

Solona smirked. "Why Wynne, I know you like gossip but I didn't think you'd want to hear all the steamy details. _Rawr_."

Wynne rolled her eyes. "You know what I mean. You two have barely looked at each other all day, let alone spoken. What's going on? Did you have a falling out?"

Solona's smirk turned into a straight line, and she looked straight ahead. "Whatever. Nothing lasts forever."

The beat of silence that followed was promising, but Solona knew it wouldn't last. Sure enough, Wynne made a _tsk_ noise a moment later. "So… you started a fling you knew wouldn't last with someone you're going to be traveling with for the foreseeable future? That's… an interesting choice."

Solona stole a glance at Wynne—the older mage's expression was serene, but her words twisted in Solona's chest. She stopped walking and turned toward her. "Look, it's… not like that, alright? I just… I fucked up, and I don't know how to fix it."

The look of surprise on Wynne's face almost made her laugh. _Guess she wasn't expecting a straight answer._

"What did you do?"

Solona chewed her lip while she stared at the dirt at her feet. "I lied about something—and no, I'm not going to tell you what. But, that was dumb. Leliana… she's not so easy to lie to. So now she's mad because she knows it."

"Oh, Solona."

Wynne's exasperated tone made the corners of her eyes prickle. She was almost as surprised as Wynne that she'd decided to open up, but it felt good to confide in someone, and Wynne was probably the closest thing she'd ever had to a mother figure. "I know. It was dumb. But… I don't know what to do about it now."

Wynne's eyebrows rose and then she took a step toward Solona. "Just go tell her the truth and apologize. She cares about you… If you explained your reason for lying, she just might understand."

_Not bloody likely._ While Leliana might forgive the lie, she'd no doubt be even more upset once she found out the truth that Solona had been hiding. "Yeah… maybe," Solona said, and then shook her head. "Come on. We're falling behind," she said, before turning to go. She turned back to look at Wynne a second later. "But, you know… thanks, Wynne. For listening."

Wynne nodded and gave her a small, sad smile. "Think about what I said. You don't have to keep everything bottled up inside anymore. You have friends that care about you."

* * *

Solona held the gnarly branch in front of her as she stepped toward the mist. Unlike every other time they'd attempted to traverse it, this time the tendrils of fog dissipated as she stepped through, and the others moved to follow. In a few short steps, the fog cleared, revealing an overgrown path and an ancient structure.

She gave a soft whistle. "Damn, wasn't expecting that."

Wynne drew up next to her. "I wonder what this ruin used to be. Is it Tevinter, or elven?"

"Whatever it is, I suspect it's where we'll find Witherfang and those werewolves," Leliana said, drawing even with Solona and Wynne. She kept her gaze trained ahead of her.

"Right," Solona said, staring hard at Leliana before giving a sharp nod. "Alright, let's break for a few before we head in. We'll have a meal before we enter. No telling what we find there."

If the others were surprised by her sudden take-charge attitude, they didn't show it. If anything, they seemed grateful for the rest. Everyone set to work—Sten got a fire going while Wynne rummaged through their food stores to divvy out lunch.

Solona looked around until her gaze landed on Leliana, who was sitting away from the group, fletching an arrow. With a determined gait, she strode over to the other woman. "Can we talk for a moment? Alone?"

Leliana looked up with raised eyebrows, but only met her gaze for a heartbeat before standing up from the tree stump where she'd been perched. "Lead the way."

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Solona walked toward the ruin, intent on finding a place where they could speak unobserved. She passed a crumbling column and swerved right. "Good enough," she muttered, before turning to face Leliana. "I… wanted to apologize for last night."

Again, Leliana's eyebrows rose, but she said nothing.

Solona licked her lips. "I lied to you, when I said that the taint was preventing me from going into the Fade. That's… not true."

The hard line of Leliana's mouth softened as her lips parted. "I… oh."

"It was dumb to try to lie to you. I should have known…" Solona rubbed a hand over her face. "Anyway, I get it if you're pissed… I mean, I know you're pissed I just…" She shook her head. "It's not that I can't go into the Fade. It's just that I shouldn't."

Leliana frowned, and crossed her arms over her chest. "Why is that?"

Solona took a deep breath. Wynne's words had knocked around in her skull all day, and it had made her wonder—was she just doing what she'd always done without thinking it through? She assumed she couldn't tell Leliana the truth… that Leliana would hate her if she knew her past with Aurelian.

But if anyone could understand that… it'd be Leliana. The more Solona had thought about it, the more she became convinced that trusting Leliana was a risk she wanted to take.

"Because… there's someone in the Fade that is looking for them. And I'm afraid seeking them out will lead him straight to them."

Leliana's eyes went wide. "Tell me everything."

"I'm going to," Solona said, not breaking eye contact. "I'm going to tell you things that I've never told another living soul."

She told Leliana the whole sordid tale about how it was actually Aurelian that had taught her what she was, and how the Magister had tried to convince her that she was special and more important than everyone else. She confessed how there was a part of her that had wanted to believe him—that _did_ believe him, right up until she followed Leliana and Morrigan into the alienage and discovered the kind of person Aurelian really was.

"I should have never spoken to him again after I found out he associated with slavers," Solona said, pacing a path in the dirt in front of where Leliana had sat down on the ancient and crumbling wall. "I should have cut off all ties and 'fessed up but…" She stopped and shook her head, crossing her arms over her chest. "I'd just gotten so used to it, you know? I never had anyone that I could tell the truth to, and this guy was half a world away. What harm was there in talking to him?" She snorted. "Stupid."

Leliana got to her feet and closed the distance between them. "Don't say that. You were scared and vulnerable. He took advantage." She put a hand on Solona's shoulder. "It's not your fault."

Solona's eyes stung as she put her hand over Leliana's. "You're sweet, but there's more."

Leliana's gaze never left hers. "You told Aurelian that Alistair is Maric's son, didn't you?"

Her mouth gaped open. "You…" She snapped it closed before shaking her head, fighting a grin. "Nailed it. How'd you figure that out?"

Leliana shrugged. "What else could it be? It's doubtful a Magister would concern himself with a displaced noble like Elissa, but a potential heir for the throne of Fereldan? That might interest a foreign power."

Solona's chest felt leaden. "It's not just that… Aurelian… he said he wants Alistair's blood."

Leliana's face screwed up in confusion. "His blood? Whatever for?"

"Well… he is a blood mage and all…"

"Maker's breath." Leliana's expression softened. "So… you were trying to protect them. That's why you didn't want to go into the Fade."

The warmth of relief spread through her chest at Leliana's awed tone and affectionate gaze. "I'm sorry I lied. I just—"

Leliana put a finger to her lips. "I shouldn't have put you in that position. I know how you feel about your powers… I… shouldn't have acted like you were obligated to do it." She moved her hand to cup Solona's cheek, and then tilted her head to the side. "I'm sorry, too."

And just like that they were kissing again. _Yay!_ Solona could scarcely believe that her confession had gone so well. But then, Leliana pulled away and fixed her with a serious look. "You have to tell Alistair and Elissa about this."

"Ahh, right." Solona slid out of Leliana's arms to resume her worried pacing. "I know this is going to sound… well, I don't know how it'll sound but the thing is, I've been thinking about this a lot and well…" She stopped to look at Leliana. "I think it might actually be safer to keep them in the dark."

"Safer. To keep them in the dark."

"I know that sounds crazy, but hear me out. The Fade is thought and emotion made real. I… still don't know much about it, to be honest. But I know that finding a person starts with just _thinking_ about them."

"So… you think that if Alistair and Elissa know…"

"Their thoughts might be enough to lead Aurelian straight to them." She shook her head. "I thought about just telling Elissa, but if Aurelian finds her—"

"He'll find Alistair," Leliana finished for her.

"Exactly." Solona's face fell. "If I knew more about what the fuck I was doing in the Fade I might be able to protect them, but as it is now… I really think not telling them is the best way to keep them safe." _And the best way to keep me in Elissa's good graces,_ she thought, but didn't say. It was true that she worried for their safety, but she was also smart enough to know Elissa would not take kindly to knowledge being kept from her, no matter how good the reason. She didn't want to face her wrath until she knew what she was going to do about Aurelian.

Leliana gave a sigh. "Alright, for now we'll do as you ask, but we can't keep it from them forever." She tapped her chin with her finger. "And we've got to figure out how to neutralize this magister. What did you say his name is?"

"I didn't." Solona crossed her arms over her chest. "And I'm not going to. He might not be looking for you, but I'm not taking any chances."

Leliana pursed her lips, looking like she was deciding whether the matter was worth arguing about. Apparently, it wasn't, for she shrugged her shoulders a moment later. "Fair enough," she said. "In the meantime, we have _got_ to figure out how to get you some _somniari_ training."

Just hearing that word from anyone else's lips—let alone Leliana's—made the hair on the back of her neck stand up straight. "Right. That's… kind of a tall order."

Leliana nodded, looking thoughtful. "The Dalish would be a good place to start. Keeper Zathrian is supposed to be very old. Perhaps he has some insight that he could impart."

Solona nodded, but kept her suspicions about Zathrian to herself for now. The old dude had supposedly unlocked some ancient elven secret that had extended his life. Solona thought that was a pile of horse dung. She didn't know how Zathrian had staved off death but her suspicions were that it had less to do with any elven history and more to do with demons. She doubted he would know anything useful. "I'll ask," she said, taking a deep breath. "But for now, we've got a werewolf curse to deal with and we'd best get to it."

Once they made it inside the ruin, it became obvious that they were elven in origin—the elven speaking ghosts kind of gave it away.

Solona had her arm shoved into a clay urn past her elbow, when Leliana appeared next to her, touching her shoulder. "Perhaps you'll find something here to help you."

There was nothing but dust in the bottom of the urn. "Right," Solona said, standing up and wiping her hand against her robes. "Maybe someone left their 'Dreamer Magic for Novices' manual lying around."

Leliana rolled her eyes, but her lips still twitched with a smile. They continued through the ruins, which Wynne speculated had been a temple. They knew they were on the right track when a pack of rabid werewolves attacked. They dispatched them, and moved on to fight more undead and even a small dragon.

There were no ancient elven dreamer secrets to be found in the dragon's hoard, but there were plenty of other treasures to _ooh_ and _ahh_ over, including an elven bow that had to be ancient but was in surprisingly good shape. Seeing Leliana's eyes light up as she smoothed a hand over the polished wood brought a smile to Solona's face.

"I believe this is a symbol for the Dalish creator god, Falon'din," Leliana said, pointing to the filigree carvings that adorned the wood of the bow. "Friend of the dead, the guide."

"Cheery," Solona said, waggling her eyebrows. "It's better than your old bow, right? That's all that counts."

"Indeed," Leliana said, not taking her eyes off it. "However, I need to string it." She slipped the weapon into the strap at her back and then looked up at Solona with shining eyes. "Onward?"

They made their way through the lower levels of the ruin. Their progress was halted at a locked door until Wynne and Leliana worked out how to perform an ancient elven ritual involving a cistern, a clay jug and an altar. Wynne seemed hesitant, but if Leliana felt any compunctions about practicing a ritual from a 'heathen' religion, she didn't show it. Again, Solona couldn't help thinking that she was so different from any other Chantry sister she'd ever met. Of course, none of them had ever been trained as Orlesian bards before joining the Chantry.

_At least, that I know of._ While Leliana and Wynne worked on deciphering the ritual steps, Solona amused herself by speculating about which of the Tower's pious sisters might have had a more colorful past. _Maybe Lily had been trained in the art of seduction. That's probably how she enraptured Jowan—putting the moves on him in her Chantry robes._ She chuckled to herself.

"That did something!" Wynne said excitedly, and Solona was brought back to the present.

The lower ruin held even more undead and giant spiders. Even without Elissa and Alistair, their group was adept at working together in battle. They defeated skeletal archers and warriors, along with shades and even a revenant. And there was lots of treasure to plunder along the way—they had to start being picky about what they took with them. Their backpacks were becoming too heavy to carry.

One small chamber drew Solona's attention. It looked to be some kind of small study or library, with shelves lining the walls and stacked in the center.

"Let's take a quick break before we head down," she said. The others spread out through the hall. Leliana sat down on the floor and pulled the bow off her back, apparently intent on stringing it right then and there.

Solona wandered inside the small room, feeling pulled toward the back bookshelf. Torchlight glinted off of something on a lower shelf. It looked to be some kind of gem… but with red liquid inside. _Is that blood?_ She thought, as she reached for it.

The moment her fingers touched the faceted surface, Solona was aware of a presence inside the gem. _Yep, definitely blood._ Miraculously—or more likely, magically—the blood hadn't coagulated in all the centuries since it'd been left here. It was clearly enchanted—the gem vibrated at her touch.

As she held the gem, her awareness of the presence inside it grew stronger. Closing her eyes, she relaxed and soon her mind swam with visions—images and memories from a life not her own. Whatever it was sensed her touch and she could feel its alarm. It seemed to recoil, somehow, as if in fear, and the images that rushed into her mind changed to those of imprisonment and loneliness.

_I'm real,_ she told the presence, unsure how she knew that the sentiment would be helpful. But it calmed at her thought, and then more images flashed through her mind. She felt an enormous weight of all the time that the presence has spent trapped within the gem—time where it had slept, gone mad, and then slept again. It had no name it could remember, but somehow Solona got the sense that it had once been an elf.

_How did you get in this… Life Gem?_ She wasn't sure how she knew what the gem was called, but the words formed in her mind nonetheless.

She saw images of a great battle, of elves and humans both screaming and attempting to flee from some terrible evil—whatever it was had been lost to time. The presence fled the destruction by using the Life Gem to escape its body. It had been sure that someone would come, to rescue it. But no one had.

_What is this place? What happened here?_

The images came slowly and Solona could tell that the presence had to think back to a time it barely recalled at all. She saw a place of serenity, where the ancient elves came to slumber and were visited by those who offered tribute to the gods on their behalf. The memories were uncertain. There were flashes of violence, of war… but it was all so long ago.

Dimly she perceived an image of the elf in silver armor, and somehow she understood that the presence was both a mage and a warrior.

"Arcane Warrior," Solona said aloud, staring at the gem in awe.

"What's that, dear?"

Wynne's question made her jump, and Solona almost dropped the Life Gem. She felt weirdly guilty as she whirled around to face her. "What? Nothing. I mean…" She looked down at the gem in her hand, and then felt silly about her weird and sudden desire to hide it. She forced herself to hold it out for Wynne to inspect, instead. "What do you think this is?"

Wynne took the gem from her fingers and Solona held her breath, but if Wynne felt any trace of the presence, she didn't show it. "This appears to be a phylactery of some kind. The essence of a mage, kept magically preserved." She handed it back to Solona with a frown. "If that were all it is, I would be surprised."

She didn't seem all that curious, however, for she turned back to the shelf she'd been looking through without another word.

Solona took a deep breath and closed her eyes as she wrapped her fingers around the Life Gem again.

_What is an Arcane Warrior, exactly?_

Solona saw images of an order of elven mages who channeled their spells into their strength and fought with swords instead of staves.

The idea of wielding a sword and wearing armor like a warrior felt suddenly and keenly appealing. The presence seemed to notice her longing, and she became aware that it offered the knowledge to her. Somehow she understood that the knowledge was all the presence had left to give—the last of its memories. In return, it asked only one thing from her: oblivion.

Solona frowned. _How would I release you?_

The images were faint and uncertain. She saw a stone altar, and the Life Gem placed upon it. It vibrated and then exploded, destroying the presence within forever. The yearning that followed this image was acute and Solona was almost overcome by the feeling of hopelessness attached to it. She felt the its overwhelming desperation. It could not remember where the altar was.

Solona looked up. The broken stone altar was only a few steps away. She walked toward it, and as the Life Gem neared the altar, Solona felt the presence hum with emotion, anticipating the moment when its endless nightmare would finally be over.

She hesitated before the altar, and the presence seemed to understand that it was time to pay up. Closing her eyes, the memories flooded into her mind. They were hazy and incomplete, but they were enough. She opened her eyes and her mouth gaped open. She could figure the rest out on her own, she was sure of it. She could be an Arcane Warrior, just like one of the ancient elves.

Her jubilation was tempered by a spike of fear coming from the gem. She got the sense that it was wondering whether she would fulfill her promise. For the first time, she felt a coherent thought from the presence, rather than just a mosaic of images and emotion.

_Release me…_

She started to set the gem on the altar, but then hesitated. As much as she felt compelled to obey, she had to wonder if it was the smartest thing to do. This Life Gem was her best connection to the world of the ancient elves that she was likely to find anytime soon. Sure, the presence _said_ that it had nothing left to give, but maybe there was a way for her to draw out forgotten memories from it? Maybe even memories of dreaming in the Fade…

The presence noticed her hesitation and its vibrations intensified. Panic that was not her own flowed through her and the gem warmed in her hand. Without another thought, she dropped it into her pocket.

The otherworldly emotions ceased the moment she broke contact, and she heaved a sigh of relief.

"What are you doing in here?"

She whirled to see Leliana in the doorway, her new bow strung and ready to use.

"Nothing!" she said far too quickly. At Leliana's frown, she laughed. "Oh god, that sounded guilty didn't it?"

Leliana's frown faltered, and then she raised an eyebrow. "It did, actually."

Solona rummaged around in her other pocket for a handkerchief. Once in hand, she fished the gem out, careful not to let it touch her skin. She held it out to Leliana.

Leliana leaned in closer to peer at it, but she didn't touch it. "What is it?"

Solona shook her head. "It's some kind of elven Life Gem." When Leliana looked up at her with a questioning expression, she folded the handkerchief over the gem and put it back in her pocket. "It's some kind of phylactery, but I think I can use it to find out more about my dreamer abilities."

Leliana's face brightened. "Really? That's excellent news."

"Yeah," Solona said, feeling her throat go thick. The memory of the Life Gem's utter panic at being left alive came rushing back, but she pushed it away. "I feel kind of bad because…" She started, and then trailed off, unsure how to put the moral dilemma she'd just confronted and blazed past into words. After a moment's contemplation, she shrugged. "Well, I should probably give it back to the Dalish, but it feels too important to just give away."

Leliana pursed her lips, and her serious expression made Solona's guts twist with guilt. She was taking her made-up moral dilemma seriously.

"Yes, well, if circumstances were different you would of course return the elven treasure to the Dalish," she said, and then looked down at herself. She was wearing a gorgeous new set of elven chain and leather armor. It was ancient, but just like the bow had been enchanted and preserved. "I thought the same thing about this armor, but you pointed out what good we're doing here. We can use all the help we can get, no?"

Solona forced a smile. "That's right."

She gestured toward the door and then followed Leliana out of the chamber. The rest of the group was ready to set off again, so they moved toward the end of the hallway. Solona froze in her tracks as a familiar sensation crawled up the back of her neck.

Leliana looked alarmed at Solona's expression. "What is it?"

"It's them," she said in awe. "Elissa and Alistair are _here._ "

Leliana and Wynne shared a look, eyes gone wide. Zevran, however, turned to Solona and asked sharply. "You're certain?"

Solona closed her eyes, but whereas a moment before there'd been nothing, now the sensations were clear and distinct. She could sense her two Grey Warden pals up ahead. It wasn't darkspawn. "Positive," she said, her grin growing wide. "They're alive!"

"And being held by the werewolves," Sten intoned, wiping the smile off of Solona's face. "Apparently."

Solona gulped. Sharing a look with Leliana, she squared her shoulders and stuck out her chin. "Well, let's go get them before they do something even more stupid, eh?"

It was probably her imagination, but the gem seemed to weigh heavy in the pocket of her robes as she walked toward the sensation in her blood.


	63. Howl, Part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The companions reunite.

_You are the moon that breaks the night for which I have to howl_

_—Howl,_ Florence + the Machine

Elissa clenched her teeth and swallowed the painful lump in her throat. There wasn’t time to cry. She had to act if she was going to save herself from Alistair’s jaws. Inhaling one last trembling breath, she tightened her grip on her dagger, preparing to strike. She held it at her hip _—_ it would take only a swift upper jab to the stomach, and then this would be over.

But she hesitated, frowning. Alistair had stopped growling, though she could still feel his hot breath on her skin. Before she could form a theory as to why that might be, she felt a slimy, warm tongue lick her face from chin to forehead.

Her eyes flew open. Alistair loomed over her, panting with his tongue lolling out of his mouth. He looked… like a happy mabari. She stared up at him with wide eyes, unable to breathe or move.

He licked her face again and it was enough to rouse her out of her shock. Loosening her grip on her dagger, she tried to take a few slow breaths, willing her heart beat to slow and the blood to stop rushing in her ears.

 _I almost killed him._ She’d been so close to doing it… She winced, trying to fight the hot tears that threatened. _Don’t think about that right now._ She forced herself to take a few more slow breaths.

Alistair started sniffing her—first her face, then down her neck to her shoulder, where he found the wound he’d left when they were back in the cave. He licked her there.

Elissa gasped. _Alistair bit me… right before he changed. Could that mean…?_ “Am I infected too?”

If he understood her question, he made no sign of it. He started sniffing around her again, and Elissa risked bringing up one arm to nudge him away.

To her relief, he backed up and then sat, watching her. He sat like a dog might—his legs bent, his arms held out before him as if they were his front legs. He was naked… it seemed odd to refer to a furred animal as _naked_ … but his body was still a bit too human for her to think of him as just a beast. He panted with his tongue out, watching her.

It was disconcerting. She couldn’t really look at him as she pulled herself out of the mud. It made an odd slurping sound when she sat up, and it ran down the length of her back. Her hair was coated with muck—its weight tugged at the back of her head. She look down at herself. “Ugh.”

 _What did it matter?_ She was going to turn into one of those beasts soon. She brought the back of her hand to her forehead, but her skin felt cool to the touch. How long did she have until she turned? Alistair’s transformation had taken less than a day… did she have that much time, or even less because of her extra tainted blood?

She stared at Alistair, still reeling. _Still alive…_ The reality of what she’d almost done felt like a crushing weight against her chest, and she had to clench her hands to keep them from shaking. _I would have… I would…_

She shook her head. _Stop. Stop thinking about this._ Breathing deeply she tried to calm down _._ It grew cold. She wasn’t sure how long it had been when she heard a twig snap.

The ridge around them was empty at first, but then dark shapes accompanied a rustling of leaves, and a pack of werewolves appeared, surrounding the small gully.

Surprised that she’d heard the branch snap over the beating of her own heart, Elissa got to her feet. Would these werewolves attack? Or would they sense a change in her as well?

The largest werewolf called out to them. “I told you to leave the forest and you didn’t listen,” he said. _Swiftrunner._ This was the werewolf that had first spoken to them. “Now you and your mate will suffer as we have suffered.”

 _Mate?_ Elissa shook her head. That didn’t matter now. The only thing that did was finding a cure for the both of them. If she turned into a wolf, all would be lost. What if they ran into Solona and the others? They might be killed, or even worse, kill someone else. She couldn’t let that happen.

The werewolf turned to go.

“Wait!” Elissa stepped forward, the mud squelching underneath her boots. “Why is it that you can speak and he cannot?”

Swiftrunner paused, not turning completely back to her. “It is because he has not met the Lady, as we have. The Lady gives us… peace.”

 _The Lady?_ This was the first Elissa had heard of her. _An apostate, perhaps?_ “What Lady? Is she connected to this Witherfang?”

The werewolves stirred at that, but Swiftrunner just shook his head. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

“Please don’t leave us! I can… I can help you. We’re on the same side now, don’t you get it?” Swiftrunner did not move, and Elissa took that as an encouraging sign. “All I want… all that matters to me in this entire world right now is finding a cure. That’s… that’s all we’ve ever wanted. I know you think we’re Zathrian’s pawns, but that’s not true! We want to find a cure as badly as you. And we can do it if we work together.”

“What can you do, pup? You don’t know the first thing about this curse.”

She tried not to cringe at the old nickname. “I’m… I’m very smart.”

The growl that erupted from Swiftrunner might have been a laugh. He took a step forward, as if to leave.

“No, wait! Listen to me! It’s true… I know things…” She sounded desperate even to herself. “I can figure things out…”

But wait… she _could_ figure things out, couldn’t she? She’d been focused on every other thing, but there were all sorts of clues…

“I know,” she said, thinking aloud. “That Zathrian has been alive for a long, long time.” She paused, half for effect and half to give her time to pull the pieces together. “His clan says he’s found the secret to elven immortality, but how likely is that? In my experience, people with expanded lifespans have made some kind of _bargain_ to do that.”

The wolves were listening, that much was clear. They weren’t exactly impressed yet, however. Swiftrunner still looked at her from over his shoulder.

“And of course, that kind of bargain is usually only available from one thing: a demon. You know what else comes from demons? Curses.” _That’s it. S_ he clenched her fists together at her sides. “That bastard _._ Zathrian’s responsible for this curse, isn’t he?”

At last, Swiftrunner turned completely toward her, looking her over in silence, before glancing at each of his werewolf brethren in turn. He nodded. “Alright. You may come with us.”

She could have fainted in relief. “And him too.”

Swiftrunner glanced at Alistair and then gave three short barks. Alistair’s answering bark sounded similar.

“Come along then,” Swiftrunner said, before turning and disappearing over the ridge.

 _How am I going to get up there?_ Before she could take a step toward the walls of the gully, however, Alistair bounded over to her and then rose to walk on his hind legs. He grabbed her with one of his powerful arms and tucked her against his chest before springing up the side of the canyon in a couple of short bursts.

Elissa didn’t even have the breath to scream, she was so surprised. He set her down when they reached the top, and then rushed after the retreating werewolves.

Luckily, the rain had stopped, but the ground was still treacherously wet. Elissa couldn’t risk being too careful with her footing however, lest she lose track of Alistair and the pack. She had to use her blood abilities a few times to keep up.

At least a half of an hour had passed when they stopped in front of a rocky outcropping. There was a door carved into the hill’s stone surface. Swiftrunner placed his front paw on a couple of stones and it creaked open, sliding on some mechanism hidden in the rock. The werewolves disappeared inside. Alistair paused at the entrance, looking back at Elissa, before following the others.

Elissa felt a twinge of doubt. Was she really going into this dark tunnel with a pack of cursed beasts? _I’m going to be one of those cursed beasts soon._ The sobering thought steeled her resolve, and she slipped inside.

It was pitch black, once she stepped out of the moonlight. She frowned, picking out noises in the gloom that told her the wolves had stopped some distance ahead of her. Reaching out to brush her fingers against the wall, she inched forward, trying to use her heightened senses to pick out her path.

As they’d run through the forest, Elissa had realized that she could hear and smell better… a lot better. _That explains how Alistair kept noticing things before me._ The campfire in the woods—he’d smelled it before they got close. He’d also heard the werewolves that had surrounded them before she did. The change was subtle and gradual enough that she might not have realized what was happening if she didn’t know she was infected.

_Do I have as long as Alistair? Or do I have even less time, because of my blood?_

Her fingers suddenly felt nothing but air. A doorway on her right led in the same direction as the noises the wolves made. She turned, found the wall again, and followed it around a corner.

Finally, she could see something other than inky blackness. A crack in the roof let moonlight stream down, illuminating the werewolf pack. They were huddled in the middle of a small, square-shaped room—lying on the stone floor, curled around each other. It looked as if they were bedding down for the night.

“What is this? I thought you were taking us to the Lady?”

Swiftrunner’s head popped up. The moonlight glinted off his eyes, making them glow eerily. “The Lady walks the forest at night. We sleep now. Meet her in the morning.”

It felt as if a stone had landed in her stomach. Morning was hours away. _Will I still be human by then?_

She swallowed her fear and crept to the side of the room, where she sat down with her back to the wall and her legs pulled up to her chest. She wrapped her arms around her legs and rested her chin on her knees, scowling at the dim heap of furry bodies. Some of them were already snoring.

Soft footfalls padded close. Alistair had left the heap of sleeping werewolves to join her by the wall. He curled up next to her, his back resting against her side, and promptly fell asleep.

 _I wish I could sleep._ There was little chance of that, however. She felt far too anxious and afraid to let sleep claim her. It would be a long, pensive night, waiting for daylight or transformation… whichever came first.

* * *

 

She awoke the next morning to the sound of a dead rabbit smacking against stone.

Alistair stood on four legs, panting in front of her—he’d obviously been awake for awhile. His muzzle was covered in blood. She deduced he must have gone out hunting… she hoped he only encountered animals.

He nudged the rabbit at her, but she shook her head before looking around. The rest of the wolves were gone. _How long have I slept? How long do I have left?_

Alistair whined and nudged the rabbit at her again, before barking in frustration.

She turned back to him, grimacing. Her stomach growled. She picked up the rabbit by one leg. _Maker,_ what she wouldn’t do for a firepit and some flint and tinder. The coppery tang of decay filled her nostrils. “I’m sorry, Alistair, I can’t eat this.”

He cocked his head to the side in a gesture that was reminiscent of how Prince would look at her. Something twisted inside her chest, but before she could say anything, she heard a shuffling of feet outside.

The others were coming. _The Lady!_ If she could help Alistair...

Dropping the rabbit, she scrambled to her feet seconds before Swiftrunner and the others entered the room. Swiftrunner nodded. “Come. The Lady of the Forest is ready to meet you.”

 _Thank the Maker._ She walked toward the door, before turning back to see if Alistair was coming.

He scooped up the dead rabbit in his jaws and and threw back his head. There was a crunch as he bit into the dead animal, and then it was gone. He bounded up to her.

Elissa’s stomach lurched. “Let’s go.”

The tunnel wasn’t quite so dark now that it was light outside, though there were still sections that Elissa had to navigate more by feel and sound than sight. At last the corridor opened into a wide hall. Sunlight streamed down from large cracks in the roof, created by old, gnarled trees that grew right through the floor and ceiling. As she moved into the room, Elissa let out the breath she’d been unconsciously holding. In spite of its wildness, something about the chamber felt more… civilized.

More werewolves occupied the chamber. They watched her in silence as she moved toward the center of the room, where a woman stood upon a circular stone dais. As Elissa neared it, her eyes went wide.

The woman was naked, or nearly so—her breasts were covered by her long, dark hair, and there were a series of branches that wrapped around her legs and hips. The twigs covered just enough that she wasn’t completely exposed. Her skin was an odd grayish green, and her arms ended in hands that had branches for fingers.

 _So, not an apostate then. A demon?_ As she stepped onto the raised platform, Alistair made a whining noise in his throat. He had been walking alongside her on four legs, but once they reached the Lady, he stood and looked around, seeming confused about where he was.

The other wolves bent their knees and bowed down. Alistair was the last to do so, looking over at Elissa with a surprisingly human expression before bending his head.

The Lady’s eyes were almost completely dark. When she spoke, her voice had a strange vibrato, as if many beings were speaking in unison. “I bid you welcome, mortal. I am the Lady of the Forest.”

The werewolves rose. “Pleased to meet you,” Elissa said, and then turned to look at Alistair. “Can you understand me now?”

Alistair met her gaze briefly and nodded before slinking away to the edge of the room.

Elissa took a step to follow him, but something scratched her arm. The Lady had placed a hand at Elissa’s elbow. “The sudden awareness can be troubling… especially for those who weren’t born to the curse. Give him time.”

Elissa frowned, staring into the shadows where Alistair lurked, but then took a deep breath and turned back to the Lady. “The curse. How do we break it?”

The Lady smiled. “Straight to the point then? First, you must listen and understand the true nature of the curse you now face. There are things that Zathrian has not told you.”

“Indeed,” Elissa said, jutting out her jaw. “Like the fact that _he_ is responsible for this curse we all now suffer.”

The Lady shared a look with Swiftrunner before turning back to Elissa. “The same curse that Zathrian’s own people now suffer.”

“That’s right.” She cocked her head to the side for a moment, before giving a little gasp. “That’s why you attacked! You thought if his own people suffered from the curse, he’d have to lift it. But… why in the Void hasn’t he, then?”

The Lady’s expression turned grim. “Centuries ago, when the Dalish first came to this land, a tribe of humans lived close to this forest. They sought to drive the Dalish away. Zathrian was a young man. He had a son and daughter he loved greatly.”

Something twisted in Elissa’s stomach. She had a hunch where this story was going, but she stayed silent and let the Lady finish.

“While out hunting, the human tribe captured them both.”

Swiftrunner growled, and then started speaking. “The hunters… tortured the boy, killed him. The girl they raped and left for dead. The Dalish found her, but later found she was… with child. She killed herself.”

“Maker’s breath,” Elissa swore softly. “So that’s why Zathrian cursed them.” _Imagine, cursing that many people…_ A quiet part of her mind told her that she would do well to enact that kind of vengeance on her enemies. She was ashamed at the swell of longing the thought induced.

But this curse… it affected more than just the guilty. It affected more than just she and Alistair, for that matter. It would not do to have two of Ferelden’s only three grey wardens turned into mindless werewolves.

Elissa had to find a cure.

Swiftrunner continued. “Zathrian came to this ruin and summoned a terrible spirit, binding it to the body of a great white wolf. Witherfang came to be. Witherfang hunted the humans of the tribe. Many were killed, but many were cursed by his blood, becoming twisted and savage.”

_Twisted and savage… as I will be soon._

“Twisted and savage as Witherfang himself is,” the Lady said, her voice the soothing rain after Swiftrunner’s grumbling thunder. “They were adrift in the forest. When the human tribe finally left for good, their cursed brethren remained. Pitiful and mindless animals.”

Swiftrunner bowed his head. “Until I found you, my Lady. You gave me peace.”

“I showed Swiftrunner that there was another side to his bestial nature. I soothed his rage, and his humanity emerged, and he brought others to me… like your companion.”

Elissa glanced again over to where Alistair stood in the shadows. She could just make out his silhouette. He stood hunched over, with his head bent.

_He seems so… ashamed._

“Please, mortal… you must go to Zathrian. Bring him here. If he sees these creatures, learns their plight… surely he will agree to end the curse!”

Elissa grimaced, tearing her gaze away from Alistair to look around the cavern. If curing Zathrian’s own people wasn’t motivation enough for him to end the curse, she doubted the plight of the werewolves would do it, either. Besides, she couldn’t go to him. “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

The werewolves growled and gnashed their teeth, until the Lady held up one of her strange hands. “Swiftrunner said that you wanted an end to the curse as badly as we do. Why can you not do this?”

“Because… I’ve been infected, as you well know. What you don’t know is that my tainted blood seems to accelerate the curse.” She gestured toward Alistair. “He was only infected yesterday, and he’s already turned. I have reason to believe my transformation may be even faster. I’ll turn into a werewolf before I make it back to the camp.”

The wolves began growling again, and the Lady’s expression turned sad. “Then all is indeed lost.”

Elissa shook her head. “No, not yet. I have friends! If we can find them, we can convince them to go back for us.”

Swiftrunner growled. “We saw these _friends_ of yours in the forest.”

“You did? Were they hurt? Did you harm them?”

“No. But they’ve killed many of us. Even now, they approach our sanctuary, hunting us for the Dalish.”

 _What?_ Her friends were nearby! “Why, that’s excellent news! I wasn’t sure if we could find them but… you can go to them. Bring them to us and I can explain everything. This will work!”

The werewolves were restless, pacing back and forth in a sea of movement that made Elissa’s head spin. The Lady turned to Elissa with a frown. “Perhaps you should go to them? We do not wish to lose more of us than we already have…”

Once more, Elissa glanced at the shadows. “I… I can’t risk that. I can’t risk being away from you when I turn, and I don’t know how soon that will be. If you send me to them and I attack them, then we’ll really be in big trouble.” _Plus, I won’t leave Alistair behind._

The Lady of the Forest nodded her head at last, and sent one of the smaller wolves off to go find Solona and the others.

Elissa waited with the pack of anxious wolves. She shared their fear—and also their anger. The more she thought about how she’d been deceived, the more she couldn’t wait to confront Zathrian.

It wasn’t long until Elissa felt the telltale buzzing at the back of her neck, signaling that another Grey Warden was near.

“Holy shit, you look terrible!”

It was easy to ignore Solona’s insolence as Elissa’s companions came through the chamber’s entrance. She narrowed her eyes, searching for signs of serious injuries, but found only minor scrapes and bruises. Zevran’s smile seemed strained, but otherwise everyone seemed as they should be. Elissa let out the breath she’d been holding. “Good. You’re here. Listen up—you need to go back to Zathrian.”

Solona and Leliana shared a look as they made their way toward the dais. “Slow down, Princess,” Solona said, eying the Lady and the werewolves that surrounded them. “How about introducing us to your new friends first?”

“Right. These are the werewolves and this is the Lady of the Forest. Now, about Zathrian…”

Wynne tapped her staff on the stone floor. “Where’s Alistair? Is he alright?”

Elissa hesitated, glancing at the shadows where Alistair lurked. If she could spare him further shame, then she should. She turned back to Wynne with her chin held high. “Alistair is fine. He’s… he was injured but he’s resting, safely—”

“It’s alright, Elissa.”

Everyone turned at the voice. It had a recognizable lilt, but it was overlaid by a gravelly, beastly grumble.

_Alistair._

Even though Elissa should have been used to the sight of him, she couldn’t help staring as he shuffled up to her. He was just so… large. So monstrous, but at the same time, his movements were strangely familiar.

The light danced over his red-brown fur. He rubbed the back of his neck and didn’t meet anyone’s gaze.

Wynne and Solona gasped.

“Maker’s breath,” Leliana swore, lifting a hand to her mouth.

Sten remained silent and as stoic as ever. Zevran seemed amused. “Well, that’s an interesting development.”

Their reactions stoked the coals of Elissa’s anger. “This _development_ is entirely Zathrian’s fault.”

Solona frowned. “Wait, what? How is this Zathrian’s fault?”

Elissa ground her teeth together, trying to hide her frustration. She didn’t know how much time she had left and was not inclined to waste it on explaining the obvious. However, experience had taught her that what was obvious to her often needed explaining to others. So, as succinctly and clearly as she could, she explained the situation.

“The Lady has asked us to return to Zathrian and bring him back here,” she finished, feeling her face warm as her anger at the elven Keeper boiled over. “But you know what? I have a better plan. Kill the elves. _Kill Zathrian_.”

Swiftrunner’s maw widened into a monstrous facsimile of a smile. “I like this plan.”

Solona’s brow furrowed. “Are you serious? If we kill Zathrian, we won’t be able to lift the curse.”

Elissa blinked, finding it hard to focus through the heat of her sudden anger. “That… that sanctimonious _prick_ sent us out here knowing full well that he was the one responsible for this curse! He endangered us… for no reason!” She waved a hand behind her. “ _Alistair_ , is infected thanks to that arrogant, despicable… _bald_ abomination. He deserves to die. They all do!”

Her companions exchanged worried glances. Zevran took a step forward, his brow wrinkled. “Please, Warden. Do not do this.”

She stared at Zevran, trying to figure out how to explain why the Dalish _had to die_ , when Alistair reached out and grabbed her shoulder.

“Elissa,” he said in his strange, grumbling voice. “You’re going to change very soon.”

She whipped around to face him, her scowl deepening. “What? Are you trying to scare me?”

“Yes!” he barked at her and she couldn’t help flinching. He looked away, letting go of her. “Figured it might help with the whole rage thing. Your emotions tend to spike badly before you… you know.”

“Before I turn, you mean,” Elissa said softly. Her anger drained away, replaced quickly by panic. Her palms were damp with sweat. She clenched them at her sides. “I see…” It was clever of him to try to manage her emotions. _At least I know I’ll retain some mental faculties when I’m a beast._ But this emotional turmoil… it was intolerable. Her throat closed up as she turned back to Solona. She could not keep the tremor out of her voice as she spoke. “My judgment is compromised. Solona, I need you to take over.”

Solona shared a worried glance with Leliana, before turning back to Elissa and nodding. “Alright, well… we’re definitely _not_ doing any crazy elf massacres, that’s for damn certain. We’ll go find Zathrian and bring him back here.” Solona frowned. “Don’t worry, Elissa. I’ve got this.”

Elissa couldn’t bring herself to speak. She could only nod and watch as her companions filed out of the room. Once they were gone, she turned to Alistair. “Does it hurt?”

He didn’t meet her eye. “It doesn’t last long.”

 _So, that’s a yes then._ Elissa’s eyes prickled with tears. _Get a hold of yourself._ She’d never felt so helpless before. Knowing that her mind was so affected by the curse was somehow worse than anything she could imagine. She tried to take a few breaths to collect herself, and glanced back at Alistair.

He was watching her.

It was difficult not to think about what had happened back at the cave. Was this how Alistair felt while they were together?… but _,_ there was no anger or fear. _No, just lust._ In spite of everything, she found herself blushing. _“I still want it to be you.”_ She’d thought that meant that he still had feelings for her, but maybe that was just the emotional rapids of the curse. Would he regret what he’d said? _Did he even mean it?_

She wanted to believe he still did. She felt a sudden irresistible urge to confess herself… to confess _everything._

“Alistair, if we don’t make it out of this… I just… I need for you to know…” She took a deep breath and a step forward, never removing her gaze from his. “I _do_ love you.”

He went still as he stared at her for a few seconds, before he reached out and patted her shoulder. “Uh, sure. Love you too, ‘Liss,” he said, not meeting her eye.

Elissa put a hand over her heart. _He does love me!_ Her elation faded a second later, however. Something was wrong about the way he’d said it. Like he was… patronizing her. Elissa’s eyebrows drew together. “You don’t believe me.” She huffed a sigh as the realization hit. “You think I’m just saying it because of the curse!”

“I…” He turned back to her, and even with his canine features, she could read the confusion in his expression. He shook his head. “I don’t—”

Alas, he didn’t get to finish his thought, because just then voices outside the hall drifted to their ears. _That was quick._ She frowned at the interruption, annoyed at first, but then, trepidation quickly took over. “How can they be back so soon?”

Alistair shrugged, but before he could answer, Solona and the rest of their friends entered the underground hall.

Followed by Zathrian.

Elissa’s nostrils flared and her eyes went wide. _I am going to murder him before he takes another step._ Alistair was at her side, however, and reached out to put one of his strangely large hands on her shoulder. She clenched her fists at her sides and nodded.

 _I can’t lose control._ If she killed Zathrian, she and Alistair would be stuck as werewolves forever. She couldn’t allow that to happen, so she bit her lips as Zathrian spoke, his voice dripping with accusation. “So here you are, _spirit_.”

It was all Elissa could do to keep from lunging at the smarmy elf. Swiftrunner was also enraged. He sprang forward with a growl. “She is the Lady of the Forest! You will address her properly!”

Zathrian’s upper lip curled. “You’ve taken a name, spirit? And you’ve given names to your pets? These… beasts who follow you?”

Elissa’s nails dug painfully into the meat of her palm. _Breathe. Just breathe._ Making herself bleed wouldn’t help anyone.

The Lady’s expression remained serene. “It was they who gave me a name, Zathrian. And the names they take are their own. They follow me because I help them to find who they are.”

“Who they are has not changed from whom their ancestors were. Wild savages! Worthless dogs! Their twisted shape only mirrors their monstrous hearts!”

Elissa vision tinged with red. “How dare you!” she snarled, hands straying to her daggers. _I could make it to him before anyone could catch me._ It was true. She could slice open his throat and end this now with a burst of speed.

Alistair’s hand was still on her shoulder, however. He tightened his grip, and leaned closer. “Easy, Elissa. Remember… we want a cure.”

She closed her eyes and nodded, though her muscles strained with tension. Even with Alistair’s grip on her shoulder, she could probably still dart forward. She was so much stronger now… “Hold me back,” she said through clenched teeth.

Alistair obeyed at once, moving to hold her arms behind her, gripping them with his own powerful hands.

She breathed through her nose and tried to listen to the conversation. The Lady had approached Zathrian. “… there is room in your heart for compassion, Zathrian,” she was saying. “Surely your retribution is spent.”

“My retribution is eternal, spirit, as is my pain. This is justice, no more.”

“Are you certain your pain is the only reason you will not end this curse? Have you told the mortal how it was created?”

“He said he summoned you and bound you to a wolf,” Solona said, eyes narrowing.

 _Wait, what?_ The Lady had said that Zathrian summoned Witherfang… unless. “ _You’re_ Witherfang?” Elissa said with a gasp.

The Lady bowed her head. “Indeed. Witherfang and I are bound as one being. But such powerful magic could not be accomplished without Zathrian’s own blood. Your people believe you have rediscovered the immortality of their ancestors, Zathrian, but that is not true. So long as the curse exists, so do you.”

Elissa blinked. That was one connection she had not made. “Does that mean if we kill him the curse will end? Let me go!”

Zathrian scowled. “No, that is not how it is!”

She struggled, but Alistair’s grip tightened. “How far are you willing to take this?” she screeched at Zathrian. “You’re the monster! You’ve infected Grey Wardens with your revenge. It goes too far!”

“I did it for my people! I did it for my son, and my daughter! For them, for justice, I would do anything!”

The Lady shook her head. “The curse would not end with Zathrian’s death. His life, however, relies on its existence. And I believe his death plays a part in its ending.”

Swiftrunner shook with the same rage Elissa felt. “Then we kill him!” he growled. “We tear him apart now!!”

 _Yes!_ “Finally! Let me at him!”

Zathrian’s expression turned scornful. “For all your powers of speech, you are beasts still! What would you gain from killing me? Only I know how the ritual ends, and I will _never_ do it!”

Swiftrunner’s bellowed. “You see? We must kill them all!”

Zathrian turned to Solona, a cunning gleam in his eye. “See? They turn on you as quickly. Do what you have come here to do, Grey Warden, or get out of my way.”

 _Maker’s breath,_ she could practically feel Zathrian’s bones snapping between her teeth. She struggled to free herself from Alistair, but his grip was like iron.

“You’ll end that curse if I have to force you myself,” Solona snapped.

Zathrian reached behind him and pulled his staff from his back in one swift and smooth motion. “Then you die with them! All of you will suffer as you deserve!”

He raised his arms, and an acrid smell filled the air. All the werewolves were surrounded in glowing light.

Elissa looked down at herself—Alistair had let go of her. Her eyes went wide. She was free.

Zathrian cast a bolt of lightning at her friends—the electricity jumped between them and they stumbled backwards a few steps.

 _Kill him!_ Her instincts screamed at her to lunge at Zathrian, but she didn’t trust herself not to slit his throat if she got close to him. She didn’t trust herself at all—not while her hands shook and her blood was on fire.

 _Breathe._ She couldn’t kill Zathrian, no matter what she felt. _It’s just the curse… you’re not yourself… control it…_

Closing her eyes, she tried to block out the noises of the battle and concentrate on her breathing. _Inhale. Exhale._ It was working. She opened her eyes, praying that Zathrian would continue to ignore her since she wasn’t moving. She feared her control might fade completely if she were attacked…

Something grabbed hold of her stomach and _twisted,_ and Elissa fell to her knees with a gasp of pain. She looked down at herself, expecting to see a tree branch or a giant shard of ice impaling her through her torso… but there was no wound. She frowned down at herself and then every muscle in her body jumped like she’d been struck by one of Zathrian’s lightning spells…

…only there was no spell.

Elissa panted, choking on air as she tried to breathe through the pain. _Oh no._ She brought up her shaking hand and held the back of it to her forehead.

A bolt of lightning shot past her head, narrowly missing her and shattering sparks along the wall behind her.

 _I’m feverish…_ _the convulsions…_

She was going to turn into a werewolf in a matter of seconds.

_Oh no…_

The Lady of the Forest was nowhere to be seen. In her place stood a giant white wolf, who was encircled with the same paralyzing rings of light as the rest of the pack. If she changed into a werewolf, she couldn’t count on the Lady’s influence… she’d be a mindless ravaging beast.

She glanced back at Alistair. _I meant it!_ She wanted to scream it out in her last moments of rational consciousness, but she couldn’t manage more than a wordless howl as her body started the transformation that would turn her into a monster.

_And not just on the inside._


	64. Howl, Part 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair struggles to keep Elissa from hurting or killing anyone after she changes into a werewolf.

_Like some child possessed, the beast howls in my veins_

_I want to find you, tear out all of your tenderness_

_And howl, howl_

_Howl, howl_

_—Howl,_ Florence + the Machine

A scream burned in Alistair’s chest, unable to escape. With Zathrian’s paralysis spell encircling him, the mere act of breathing proved difficult, let alone screaming. _Dammit._ He felt utterly useless watching Elissa writhe on the floor. His chest ached whenever saw the bright red crescent-shaped bite mark on her shoulder. _All my fault._ If he’d just been able to control himself, they wouldn’t be in this dire situation. _Idiot._

He was lucky Elissa didn’t hate him. She should, after all that he’d done to her in the last day, but instead she was so caught up in the crazy emotions of the werewolf curse that she’d said… _well. That was just the curse talking. Right?_

There was a ripping noise as the back of Elissa’s leather chest armor split at the seams, as her shoulders widened. She screamed as her arms grew and bent at strange angles. Alistair wanted to look away as her skin split, folding in on itself and revealing fur underneath, but he couldn’t. He remembered how awful it felt when his own muscles and bones had elongated and shifted. He wished that it were over already.

And yet, the longer it took her to turn, the better. Once she was a wolf, Alistair feared she’d be too fast for anyone to stop. There was no telling who she’d go after—maybe one of their friends, maybe Zathrian. Either would be bad, but of course Zathrian dying would mean they’d be stuck as werewolves forever.

Was it wrong of him to think that’d be worse?

_Unless the Lady intervenes…_ but the Lady was nowhere to be seen. In her place stood a large white wolf, encircled by the same rings of light that paralyzed the other werewolves. _Witherfang._ The origin of their curse, supposedly. Alistair doubted the spirit’s soothing effect manifested while it was in wolf form.

_I could use a good Holy Cleanse… wait..._

He was still a templar, wasn’t he? Could he still manage the spell purge ability he’d had as a human?

It was worth trying. He was unable to move, but he could still focus his mind. He could still draw upon the righteous fire within him that all templars possessed. He concentrated on the sensations, blocking out Elissa’s screams and tapping the secret font of sacred power inside of him. Taking a deep breath, he gathered the energy and sent it flying out from him in all directions.

Light flashed behind his eyelids. He opened his eyes and blinked at his monstrous paws bringing them up to his face in wonder. They still looked vaguely like hands, but they were larger, padded, and each finger ended in a curved, sharp claws. Still, his freakish form wasn’t the issue at the moment—he could move again. 

_It worked!_

The screams died abruptly, tearing Alistair’s gaze away from his hands. Elissa’s transformation was complete. She was a fawn colored werewolf—more gracile than him and the others, but with her special tainted blood powers, he figured she’d be just as dangerous, if not worse. Her leather chest armor had fallen to the floor in pieces, but she still wore her leather skirt. The sight of a werewolf prancing around in a skirt might’ve been humorous in another circumstance, but at the moment, Alistair didn’t feel much like laughing.

Elissa looked around, growling, before she dropped to all fours and tensed. The next second, fast as an arrow, she darted away from him. Luckily, a shade had the misfortune to materialize in her path. She tackled it to the floor in a flurry of claws and teeth.

Alistair edged forward, ready to step in if he was needed. It felt a bit odd to just watch, rather than help, but the longer the shade kept her occupied, the longer until she attacked one of their party members or Zathrian.

He was dimly aware of the battle raging around him. His cleanse hadn’t reached any of the other werewolves—that was probably a blessing, given how enraged Swiftrunner had been before Zathrian attacked. Even without them, his friends seemed to be doing alright. They were five against one, technically. Of course, Zathrian had evened things up by summoning a couple of garden variety shades and a group of evil trees. ( _Or is that technically a grove? A hedge? Alright, focus.)_

Ordinarily his group of companions would have found the battle interesting, but not exactly challenging. Adding a deranged werewolf to the mix made things a lot dicier. 

Solona thrust out her hand and closed her fist. There was a crackling noise and an inch of ice encased Zathrian.

“Don’t kill him,” Alistair roared over his shoulder. “Please!”

“I know!” Solona’s brow furrowed and she turned and shot a bolt of arcane energy at a sylvan that swung a thick branch at Leliana. “You just keep Elissa busy, alright?”

“I’m working on it!”

Alistair turned back to Elissa just in time to see her finish off the shade by tearing out its throat with her powerful jaws. The body slumped to the floor, and she stood panting, looking down at the corpse while blood dripped from her jaws and pooled on the stones beneath her feet.

Alistair stepped forward. “Elissa,” he said, his tone urgent. 

She looked at him, but turned away, and he could tell by the way her body tensed that she was about to leap again.

He moved in front of her, holding up his paws. “Stay!” he snarled, feeling like an utter fool. She growled at him and turned to go around him. He moved over again, blocking her path. “Please, just stay! You don’t want to do anything you might regret.”

She hesitated, and for one hopeful second Alistair thought he might have gotten through to her, but she feinted right and when he fell for it, she went left.

He cursed himself as he turned to chase her. She might be rabid, but she was still clever _. Great._

Elissa barreled straight for Wynne, who had placed herself at the back of the room and was hurling bolts of lightning at the giant trees. Elissa smashed into her, and the two of them rolled on the floor.

Alistair was right on her heels and launched himself at Elissa, knocking her off Wynne.

The two of them thudded to the floor together. Elissa deftly flipped over onto all fours and launched a series of disapproving barks at him, before turning back toward Wynne.

“No!” he yelled, and charged, shoving her backward.

He sent her sprawling and in the few seconds it took her to find her footing, Alistair spared a glance at Wynne. She was lying motionless on her side.“Solona, help Wynne!” he barked out, before turning back to Elissa.

She was stalking on all fours, looking for her next prey. _Why can’t I get her to attack me?_ But of course, he remembered what it was like when he only had a beast’s comprehension, before the Lady of the Forest brought him back to himself. Other werewolves smelled like friend, not foe or prey. If he was going to keep Elissa occupied, he was going to have to work hard to get and keep her attention.

Setting his shoulders, he charged, barreling into her with all of his weight.

She might be a snarling, half-mad beast with uncommon strength and supernatural speed, but he had her on sheer muscle mass alone. When he crashed into her, she was launched backward a few feet, yelping in surprise.

It still wasn’t enough. She flipped over, claws scratching against the stone floor as she righted herself. For a second, he thought she might attack, but she merely snarled at him, showing her teeth and snapping her jaws, before turning away and trying to dart past him again.

He anticipated the move and blocked her path, reaching out to capture her with his giant paws. He didn’t hold back, throwing her backwards at the wall with all his strength.

She hit it with a loud smack, giving a whimper as she slid down it. When she landed on the floor and didn’t move for the span of a breath, he feared he’d gone too far, but then she roused and shook herself. This time, when she snarled at him, it was different. She didn’t turn away, but confronted him, upper lip curled and hackles raised.

_Looks like I’m not a friend anymore,_ he thought, right beforeshe charged.

_Finally!_ He tried swatting her away again, but she was too fast, and darted under his grasp to rake at his legs with her sharp claws. “Ow, that hurts!” he growled, before managing to get his paws on her so he could push her off of him.

She backed up a few steps and they started circling each other, Elissa growling, her fangs bared and dripping with foam.

_How crazy is this?_ At one point in his life he’d been consumed by the urge to protect her, to keep her safe. Now, he was trying to figure out just how badly he could hurt her without doing permanent damage or making things even worse by spreading the taint. _Maker’s breath._ Here they were, surrounded by cursed werewolves, an ancient spirit and several talented mages, and yet, that girl he’d been so worried about back in the Korcari Wilds had somehow managed to take the top spot of ‘most dangerous person in the room’ from anyone else. He shook his head. “You did say we’d be end up in a weirder place… I think this qualifies as weird—hey!”

She lunged at him in the middle of his speech, leaping up and crashing into him, using all of her bodyweight to try to knock him off balance. He stumbled backward before he slammed against something large and immovable—the wall. Caught between it and a vicious werewolf, he reached out and grabbed her by the neck, holding his arm straight out in front of him, trying to keep her from raking open his guts with her razor sharp claws. She was too damn strong, however, and as she thrashed about, Alistair worried she’d jerk herself loose or really hurt him.

He abruptly turned and slammed her against the wall, holding her up as high as his arm would let him. Now, she went to work on his paw, digging painful trenches into the skin of his paw and foreleg with her sharp claws. Gritting his teeth, he tightened his grip.

“Stop struggling, Elissa,” he said, although he knew it wouldn’t work. Elissa had tried talking to him when he was a wolf, and it had all sounded like nonsense.

The memory of her shivering and crying beneath him made his throat burn. _When I think about what I almost did…_ At the time, he didn’t have the words to comprehend what was happening. He had chased her because she ran—that’s as deep as it went. And then he smelled her and it was different—

Alistair froze, the memory of the gully coming back to him all at once. She’d spoken through her tears, but until now, he hadn’t been able to decipher the sound shapes she’d made.

_“I love you. I have always loved you.”_

Elissa’s struggles grew weaker, but Alistair didn’t dare loosen his grip. He tried to be careful—he didn’t want to kill her, obviously, but he had to stop her…

_“I love you more than anything, but I can’t let you kill me.”_

His mind had to be playing tricks on him. There was no way Elissa had said that back in the gully… Frowning, he peered up at her, trying to see Elissa within the thrashing monster in his grip. “You love me?”

But of course, she couldn’t understand him. Her head turned left and right as she tried to scratch at the hand that held her up by the throat.

He took a deep breath and spared a glance at the room around him.

One of the sylvans had collapsed to the ground, falling like a log against the far wall. The other two were nowhere to be seen. _Burned or shattered, then._ Leliana’s arrow pierced an eye of a shade, and the creature slumped to the floor.

_We’re winning._ Zathrian still stood, however, his back to the room’s main entrance. Alistair was about to shout at him to surrender when, from out of nowhere, a series of thick, sharp branches grew all around him. He cried out as they pierced his flesh in several places… one of them the meaty flesh of his forearm. Without thinking he let go of Elissa and tried to pull his arm away.

She slid down the wall as the spell—for that’s what it had to be—dissipated, and with a start, Alistair made to reach for Elissa again. But it was too late.

She’d reacted swiftly, launching herself off the wall and leaping toward the center of the room.

Alistair ran after her. She was barreling right toward Zathrian. _If she kills him…_ “No!” he cried out. “Stop her!”

What happened next seemed impossible. One moment, Elissa felt miles away, seconds from tearing out Zathrian’s throat. The next, a trail of smoking ice led from one corner of the room to Zathrian. Elissa was caught in its wake, and stood frozen, her mouth open wide and her limbs extended, mid-leap.

Solona appeared between Zathrian and Elissa. She wielded a sword ( _where did she get that?)_ , and pointed it inches from Zathrian’s neck. “It’s over, Keeper,” she yelled. “You have to end this.”

Alistair darted over to Elissa, ready for when the spell broke a second later. He grabbed her, pinning her furry legs to her side. She snapped her jaws uselessly at air and struggled in vain to free herself, but Alistair had had the sense to grab her from behind.

Zathrian took in the scene before him and fell to his knees. “No… no more. I cannot… cannot defeat you.”

The other werewolves all started moving at once, and Alistair realized the paralysis spell had been broken. Light shimmered around the white wolf, so bright that it forced Alistair’s eye shut. When he opened them, the white wolf was gone, replaced by the Lady of the Forest.

The Lady’s calming effect was immediate--Elissa gasped and stopped struggling, looking around the room. “What… what is going on?” 

Alistair slowly loosened his grip, feeling a heady rush of relief when she simply stood there, not attacking anyone or darting away. _Thank the Maker, she’s herself again. Well, sort of._ “You changed. And then we had to fight Zathrian, and I had to keep you from… you know…”

Elissalifted her furry paw to her snout as she looked around the room, before letting it fall limply at her side. “Alistair, I…” She hung her head. “I… I can’t…”

Feeling his throat thicken at the all too familiar display of shame, Alistair stepped forward, putting his monstrous paw on her furry shoulder. “It’s not your fault,” he said softly, before glaring over at Zathrian. “It’s his,” he snapped. “It’s time, Zathrian. Put an end to this curse.”

“I… cannot do as you ask,” Zathrian said, slowly getting to his feet. His head remained bowed. “I am too old to know mercy… all I see are the faces of my children, my people. I cannot do it.”

“Cannot? Or will not?” Alistair asked, an unconscious growl in his throat. “Maybe you just don’t want to die.”

Zathrian’s tattooed brow furrowed as he stared back at Alistair. At last, his shoulders slumped. “Perhaps I have lived too long. This hatred in me is like an ancient gnarled root. It has consumed my soul.” He turned to the Lady. “What of you spirit? You are bound to the curse just as I am. Do you not fear your end?”

The Lady tilted her head to the side, and spoke in her strange, ethereal voice. “You are my maker, Zathrian. You gave me form and consciousness, where none existed. I have known pain and love, hope and fear, all the joy that is life. Yet of all things, I desire nothing more than an end. I beg you, Maker, put an end to me. We beg you. Show mercy.”

Zathrian strode forward until he was in the center of the stone dais. He knelt down, as wisps of light appeared around his head and started circling him. “You shame me, spirit,” he said. “I am an old man, alive long past his time.”

“Then you’ll do it? You’ll end the curse?”

“Yes, I think it is time. Let us… let us put an end to you.”

Elissa stared up at him with sudden intensity. “Alistair, I—”

“It’s alright,” he said quickly, unable to meet her gaze. He took his hand off her shoulder. “You’ve come to your senses, I get it.”

She stared silently for a few moments, before shaking her head and stepping up to him. With a sigh, she wrapped her arms around his torso and buried her face in the fur of his chest.

He blinked rapidly as his arms automatically closed around her. _Don’t… don’t read into this…_ That had been his mantra for some time now. Don’t get your hopes up. Don’t read into Elissa’s mixed signals. She didn’t feel the way he wanted her to, and he had worked hard to accept that. _She’s just scared,_ he thought, as he rested his chin on the top of her head.

A cloud of blue energy coalesced around Zathrian and then dissipated. He lifted his staff in the air and then brought the tip of it down against the stone. Golden light flared around him and he fell, slumped onto the floor.

The Lady brought her hands to her chest as the werewolves circled her, and in spite of how badly Alistair wanted to be human again, he felt a swell of grief—he’d barely known her, and yet without her, he and Elissa would still be mindless monsters. He couldn’t help feeling that he owed the spirit everything.

The Lady looked at each werewolf in turn, smiling sadly. She turned to Alistair and nodded, before a wide swath of flaming light appeared and engulfed her in a loud rush. It flared impossibly bright for a second, and then it rose toward the ceiling… and then the Lady was gone.

The whole room went white, and Alistair closed his eyes again. Elissa shifted in his arms… or so he thought at first, but then he became aware that instead of furry, muscular arms around him, he felt smooth, soft skin pressed against him.

He opened his eyes.

_It worked!_ He was human again, and so was Elissa. Her head was covered in blood and mud, but it had blond hair on top of it, not fur. The skin of her face was smooth against his naked chest—

He looked down at himself with a start. “Um…” He looked up and around the room. _Oh no. This is a nightmare._

Elissa’s head jerked up and she peered up at him, frowning. “What was that?”

Had he said that out loud? “Elissa, um, don’t… don’t look now but, it’s just… we’re both rather… uh… naked.”

Her eyebrows shot up, and in spite of his warning she _did_ look—she leaned back and really took a gander at him, her eyes and mouth going completely round.

Instinct took over and he took a quick step back, letting go of her and cupping himself the best he could with his hands. He tried to laugh—it came out like a dry cough. “And if that weren’t enough, it appears we’re surrounded by a bunch of other… naked people.”

It was true. All the werewolves around them had also reverted to their human forms. Their human _naked_ forms. And they all pressed uncomfortably close, standing on the stone dais with them. They also seemed far less self conscious about it than Alistair, though perhaps that was just a symptom of their joy. Men and women around him were laughing, crying, and hugging each other in their excitement.

Every inch of his skin burned with a blush. “I’m just going to melt into a puddle of embarrassment now, thanks,” he mumbled, sparing a glance at Elissa that he immediately regretted.

She was still looking at him, for some reason, and had made no effort to cover herself. 

She gave an incredulous sounding huff. “You have nothing to be embarrassed about, believe me.”

“Maker’s breath,” he swore, closing his eyes, sure that his face was about to burst into flames. _This isn’t happening._ How could he go from utter relief to… to… whatever _this_ had become? He heard Elissa cough and opened his eyes into slits.

At last, she seemed to become aware of the other people around them. She had flipped her hair over her shoulders to cover up her small, round, mud-streaked breasts…

_Just what I need, that vision stuck in my head._ He averted his gaze and yelled at the ceiling. “Solona? Leliana? Somebody? A little help here, _please_.”

To his dismay, her heard a chuckle behind him. _Oh no._

Zevran’s sing-song voice crawled up his spine. “Unfortunately, I already gave my extra pair of pants to Elissa, my dear Alistair, but perhaps you could fit that big, hulking frame of yours into my extra shirt?”

“Give it to Elissa,” he hissed, keeping his gaze leveled at the ceiling.

Zevran passed by him, far more closely than he really needed to. “Here you go, my filthy little dove. Though, I’d advise washing up a bit before dirtying up a clean shirt. Perhaps I could be of service in this endeavor?”

“That’s a good point, actually.” 

Alistair couldn’t help looking at Elissa at _that._ “It is?” he croaked.

She had one of her arms crossed over her chest, and held out Zevran’s white shirt away from her body with her other hand. At his expression, she blushed and looked away. “But obviously, I don’t need your help…that’d be wildly inappropriate…”

Something soft hit him in the face--clothing of some kind. He grabbed it and bunched it up, using what looked like a pair of pants to cover himself. Risking a look around, he searched for a clear path to some dark corner where he could put them on, but every direction was blocked by naked flesh. _Maker’s breath._ “Um, thanks for the pants.”

“They’re Sten’s,” Solona explained, walking up the stone dais with Wynne. 

“Wynne!” Elissa turned toward her, eyes going round. “You’re alright.”

“I’m fine dear. You just knocked the wind out of me.” Alistair had resumed his scrutiny of the ceiling, but he swore he could hear the smirk in Wynne’s voice. “It’s good to… see… you.”

One of the naked humans stepped foreword. Alistair glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. The man matched him in height and build, but had dark hair that covered his head, chest, legs and… Alistair looked back up at the ceiling.

“It’s… over. She’s gone and… we’re human!” The voice sounded familiar. _Swiftrunner. “_ I can scarcely believe it.”

“You’ve been a werewolf all your life,” Elissa said, managing to be curious in the midst of Alistair’s waking nightmare. “You aren’t going to miss all that strength and speed?”

“Compared to the beast inside we had to fight every moment? This is just fine! It feels glorious.”

Alistair cleared his throat. “So… maybe we could save the question and answer period for later and instead focus on what we’re doing next.”

“Right,” Elissa said. “So what are you going to do now?”

A quiet murmur spread through the group. “Well, I… I suppose we’ll have to discuss that. Maybe… maybe we’ll try to return to human society? Or maybe we’ll make a home for us here… it… still feels like home.”

“Hmm,” Solona said. “If I might make a suggestion… don’t remain here in the temple. It’s… not your home, not really. This belongs to the Dalish.”

Alistair was so surprised he forgot to keep looking at the ceiling. He wouldn’t have expected such a response from Solona. Apparently, he wasn’t alone in his surprise, because everyone turned to stare at Solona.

“What?” she said, frowning back at them. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

Elissa cocked her head to the side and then nodded. “Indeed, I believe you are, Solona.” She turned back to the former werewolves. “I think you can find a home for yourself elsewhere in the forest--you should be able to find some caves to settle in.”

At _cave_ she glanced at Alistair, before quickly looking away. Her face was covered in too much blood and mud to be certain, but he felt it likely that she was blushing.

“Anyway, we’ll help you get settled--give you what advice we can about being… well, human.” Elissa sounded far more cheerful than Alistair would have thought possible, given their circumstances. “One thing you’ll need to learn about us: we like to wear clothes.”

“Most of the time,” Zevran purred.

“Right, so… we need to find these people some clothes.” Elissa spoke in her official leader tone. “I don’t imagine we have enough for this many people…”

“We found a good bit of armor we had to leave behind as we made our way through the ruins,” Solona said. “We can backtrack a bit… see what we can find.”

Elissa nodded. “We can donate some of our bedding to making underclothes. Maybe we can purchase more from the Dalish when we get back to their camp.”

Alistair kept his gaze on the ceiling, not paying attention as the others made plans around them. He simply waited for an opening where he could slink away and put on his pants in privacy. After what seemed like an eternity, but was likely only a few seconds, Elissa had restated their plan: get cleaned up, get the werewolves some clothes, and get out of the temple.

That was fine with him. He waited while the others dispersed, relieved that he would finally have a chance to get dressed. He was just about to step away when he realized Elissa hadn’t moved.

“I… I know we need to talk. Give me ten…” Elissa looked down at herself. “Er… make that twenty minutes.”

_This is it._ “Do we? I mean… I get it.” He let his voice drop low and looked away. “It was the curse talking. You don’t have to explain it.”

Her gaze snapped back up to his, but she didn’t respond for a long moment. At last she cleared her throat, blinking and looking toward the door. “I think I do. Please… just give me time to clean up.”

_Or maybe…_ “Sure,” he said softly, and watched her walk away.

_What just…?_

_Did I…?_

_Was she…?_

He stood there frowning at the empty room, still holding the extra pair of pants bunched in front of himself. A hollow-feeling ache spread through his chest, making it hard to breathe. At the same time, he felt almost lightheaded--his blood was rushing in his ears and he could feel his pulse throbbing in his throat.

_What could she possibly have to say?_

He pulled his pants on quickly, jerking the cloth up each leg with sharp, sudden movements, his brain abuzz with questions he would only find answers to after an absolute sodding _eternity_ of twenty minutes had passed. 


	65. Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group has an unexpected reunion, and Elissa deals with the aftermath of her time with Alistair in the forest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Profuse apologies for the very long break between chapters. Life intervened, but I'm back. Since it has been so long...
> 
> PREVIOUSLY ON POISON AND WINE
> 
> After Elissa and Company acquired the antidote from Arl Howe, Elissa sent Morrigan to Redcliffe, along with Prince and the dwarven merchants.
> 
> During an ambush by Marjolaine's people, Elissa was injured and discovered that thanks to Avernus' potion, her blood is now dangerously tainted, to the point that she can infect other people with Blight sickness. While attempting to heal her, Solona was tainted, and it was only by Elissa's ingenious plan to use her own blood as a substitute for archdemon blood that they managed to save Solona.
> 
> Once the group met up with the Dalish clan, they set off in search of Witherfang, but not before Elissa noticed how well Alistair and Lanaya were hitting it off. Once they'd promised to help the elves and set off into the forest, Elissa and Alistair were separated from the rest of the group when they had an argument that resulted in the two of them plummeting off a bridge and into a river. The two discovered that Alistair was infected with the werewolf curse when he bit her, and Elissa later discovered that she was infected.
> 
> They managed to cure the werewolf curse and save the Dalish, but not before Elissa confessed to Alistair that she loved him.

 

_You are something I should do without, but I won't_

— _Under the Table,_ Banks

Solona, Elissa and Leliana stood in a circular chamber in the ruins. A hole in the middle of the floor revealed a deep well of water.

"You're not really going to bathe in there, are you?"

Solona's incredulous tone made Elissa pause with her shirt halfway over her shoulders. "Why not?" she asked before pulling the borrowed garment over her head. "It's the simplest solution."

The other women looked at each other as she pulled off her boots. "It's just… this place was kinda… I don't know… _sacred?"_ Solona hugged her arms around herself as she looked around. "It just seems… wrong."

"I agree," Leliana said, sticking out her chin. "You shouldn't treat the well as your own personal bath. It's disrespectful."

She expected such sentimentality from Leliana, but reverence had never been something Solona exhibited. _Odd._ Elissa kicked aside her boots. "You're serious, aren't you?"

Solona shrugged, still not meeting her gaze. "Well, yeah."

Elissa stifled a sigh. _I just want to get clean._ Dipping into the pool of clean water seemed like the best solution, but she found herself unwilling to completely ignore her companions' misgivings. It wasn't a sentiment she understood. While outwardly Elissa appeared as devout as any Fereldan noblewoman, that was more about duty than any true zeal. Perhaps her judgment in this realm wasn't the best.

The thought made her frown deepen. "Alright, fine. What do you suggest then?"

Solona and Leliana came up with an alternative. They found a stone vase and filled it with water, which Solona then heated as best she could with her fire magic. Elissa bit her tongue to keep from commenting on her lack of proficiency with that particular branch of the primal school (her assessments of mage abilities never seemed to please anyone much), and suffered without complaint through the bath, using a clean scrap of cloth to wipe herself down. With help from the other women, she was able to pour water through her hair to wash it. Fortunately, Leliana had a sliver of soap and a comb. The water they used was from the well, which made the whole thing completely ridiculous in Elissa's estimation, but she refrained from saying so, less they demand she walk to the closest spring and bathe there. Instead, she discussed their immediate goals as she sloughed off the mud and grime: clothing the ex-werewolves and preparing to travel back to the Dalish camp.

"If you run out of cloth, you can use my bedding." Elissa squeezed the excess water out of her hair, splashing water noisily on the stone floor. "Send Alistair over here when you see him."

Leliana's eyes narrowed. "Why do you need to see—"

"That's fine," Solona cut in, grabbing Leliana's elbow and leading her out of the room.

_Thank the Maker for small miracles._

Elissa dressed. She still only had Zevran's cotton shirt and her Dalish leather skirt to serve as an outfit, but they would have to suffice until she returned to the Dalish camp to trade for her old armor back. She hoped the elves hadn't already allocated it to some hunter.

 _Idiot._ That particular decision couldn't be blamed on the curse, either. It was her stupidity alone.

She sat cross-legged on the stone floor and started working out the knots in her hair with the comb she'd borrowed from Leliana. The tactile task was an effective and time-consuming distraction, but even after untangling every last snarl, Alistair still hadn't shown up. _What is taking him so long?_

She stood and started pacing around the well, but stopped herself after a few steps. How would it look if Alistair entered and saw her pacing nervously?

No, she needed to look more casual. She glanced upward. There was a hole in the ceiling where sunlight streamed down. _Casual, but also standing in the best possible light._ If she placed herself just so, her golden hair would shimmer in the sunlight… or it would if it weren't still sopping wet. She found herself wishing it had more time to dry, but Alistair would likely show up before that happened. _Oh well._

What if she stood with her back to him, shaking out her hair as if she were preparing to braid it? _That might work._ She'd be able to sense his arrival, so she could time her pose for maximum effect.

Smiling to herself, she moved into position, facing the well with her back to the door. Closing her eyes, she lifted her face up, soaking up the warmth and light.

She tried to slow her breathing and empty her mind. It wasn't meditation, exactly—at least, she didn't think it was.

_I'm just… impersonating a flower... and flowers don't think._

At last she felt the telltale buzzing at the back of her skull. _He's coming!_ She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and posed with her hands in her hair. After another moment, however, she opened her eyes and frowned.

The scratching of claws against stone sounded… familiar.

Pleasing poses fled her mind entirely. She spun around just in time to see the door fly open, and a furry blur raced inside.

She fell to her knees with her arms open wide. "Prince!" She yelped, wrapping her arms around him. "Oh Prince! I'm so glad you're back!"

Prince put his paws on her shoulders, wagging his tail happily. She buried her face in the mangy fur of his neck. Solona had entered the room, though Elissa didn't realize it until she spoke. "So much for that bath of yours, eh?"

Elissa looked down. The dog was a muddy mess, and had gotten paw prints all over her white shirt. Her arms and probably her face were dirty too, but she didn't care. "I guess I'll need another one," she said with a laugh.

"You might want to wait on that. Prince didn't come back alone."

Elissa's eyes went wide. "Morrigan's back! The arl… did the antidote work?"

"Dunno. She says she doesn't want to repeat herself and will only speak of it when you're there. You can imagine how well Alistair is taking that."

 _So much for our talk._ "I'd better get out there."

* * *

They found Alistair and Morrigan in the large chamber where they'd fought Zathrian. He stood stiffly, his fists clenched at his side. Morrigan leaned against a staff, examining her nails.

Alistair caught her gaze as they neared. He looked away and snapped at Morrigan. "Great, you're here. Now tell us what you know, Morrigan."

Morrigan ignored him and regarded Elissa with raised eyebrows. "I thought she said you were bathing?"

"Yes, well, Prince—"

"Who cares about that? Just tell us already! Is my uncle alive or not?"

Morrigan shrugged one feathered shoulder. "As you wish," she said, and then paused just long enough to make Alistair's scowl deepen. "The antidote worked."

Everyone froze. _It worked?_

"The antidote worked," Alistair repeated, before furrowing his brows together. "This isn't some kind of trick, is it? The arl… Arl Eamon… my uncle… he's really alive?"

"'Tis no trick. I speak the truth. The arl lives." With a deep sigh, she reached into a pocket of her leather skirt and pulled out a small scroll. "He is recovered, and he bade me send this missive to you both."

It took everything in Elissa's power not to snatch the scroll out of Morrigan's hand. Instead, she turned toward Alistair. "He's your uncle. You should read it."

Alistair's lips parted as he stared at the scroll. "No. I… I think you should read it. He probably addressed it to you anyway."

"Are you sure?"

"I think so. Yeah."

Morrigan snorted. "Just take it! 'Tis no great missive, and 'tis addressed to you all."

"Wait." Alistair glared at Morrigan. "You read it?"

"'Twas in my possession with only a flimsy seal. Why shouldn't I have read it?"

Alistair's mouth fell open, and for a moment, Elissa thought he might explode with rage. But he shook his head instead, and then gestured for Elissa to take the scroll.

Once she unrolled the parchment, she began reading aloud, tilting the paper and her head so she could see it by the light of a nearby torch.

" _Wardens,_

_Words cannot express the shock and then gratitude I felt once Isolde and Teagan informed me of the circumstances surrounding my long slumber. I came so close to losing everything I hold dear, and I'm told I have the Grey Wardens to thank for preventing that horrific fate—not just for my family but the entire village of Redcliffe. You are truly Champions sent by the Maker in our hour of need._

_Your companion tells me that you have Warden treaties to deliver, but I urge you to return to Redcliffe at your earliest convenience so that Isolde and I can reward you in the manner you deserve. I shall do my best to secure the Imperial Highway to ensure your safe passage."_

"A reward waiting for us," Solona said, grinning. "I like the sound of that."

Elissa held out the paper for Alistair. "There's a postscript for you."

He took it from her and read it, the muscles of his jaw clenching. She didn't wonder why. She'd read the postscript, too.

_PS. Warden Alistair: I am beyond relieved to discover your survival and eager to see you again. I am proud of the man you've become and see great things in your future. We have much to discuss._

"The arl sent soldiers to secure the road into Redcliff. 'Tis safe to travel once again."

"My uncle is alive," Alistair whispered. "My uncle is alive!"

Elissa's chest filled with warmth as she beamed up at him. "It worked!"

She didn't think then—she just reacted, and it seemed Alistair did as well, for the next thing she knew, her cheek was pressed against his chest while he wrapped his arms around her in a tight hug.

There was no telling how long they might've stood there like that, had Morrigan not cleared her throat. "You're _most_ welcome."

"Right," Elissa said, tearing herself away from Alistair to face Morrigan. "Thank you, Morrigan. We'd have never gotten the antidote to the arl this quickly without your help. We're truly in your debt."

Alistair made a noise in his throat, but when Elissa looked at him, his expression was neutral. "Thank you, Morrigan."

Morrigan seemed just a bit taken aback by the gratitude they'd both displayed. While Alistair hadn't been effusive, Elissa couldn't help admire that he'd at least had the grace to thank Morrigan, especially after she'd tortured him by withholding the truth. Apparently Morrigan was equally surprised.

Morrigan was silent for a long moment. "Very well." She looked around with a disdainful sniff. "'Twould be best not to dawdle here overlong. We should return to the Dalish, secure their treaty, and move on."

"We're almost finished here." Elissa looked down at herself and sighed. "I've got to clean up yet again, no thanks to _you_." In spite of her accusing tone, she smirked and scratched Prince's ears as she spoke. His tongue lolled out of his mouth and he looked up at her lovingly. She frowned, and turned to Alistair. "I guess… we'll have to talk later…"

"Right," Alistair said. He had unrolled the scroll again and was reading it over. "That's fine. I'll catch up with you at camp tonight."

"Of course," she said breezily. A weight settled in her gut as she watched him walk away, his head still bent over the scroll.

"If 'tis not too much trouble, I would also like to request an audience with you." Elissa gave Morrigan a blank look. "'Tis something I need to discuss with you."

 _Something dreadful, probably._ "Of course. We'll talk later."

Elissa's heart felt heavy as she made her way back to her bathing chamber.

* * *

The forest lacked the supernatural pall it possessed on their first trip through. Now, it seemed dreadfully dull. No wind disturbed the perfectly ordinary leaves of the trees, nor did any shadows twist into threatening shapes. With Morrigan's guidance, they found the shortest path back—whatever enchantment that had caused them to get so turned around before was gone now.

They faced few enemies, which left Elissa plenty of time to brood. She was in a thoroughly foul mood when they neared their destination a few hours later. She'd spent the trip staring sullenly at the back of Alistair's head. _If things had gone the right way, I'd at least know where I stand…_

She kicked at a stone that was just heavy enough to hurt, and watched it thud into the dirt path a few feet ahead of her. When she looked up, she was surprised to see that Alistair had stopped and turned toward her.

Smoothing her expression into what she hoped passed for pleasantly neutral, she nodded at him. "Something on your mind?"

He fell into step beside her. "Yeah. I… wanted to talk to you about something."

"Oh?" Elissa looked around, feeling her throat constrict. "Now?"

He didn't miss her panicked tone. "About the Dalish," he said evenly. "Their keeper is dead and we've got to explain it."

 _Oh._ "Right. I guess I assumed our success in lifting the werewolf curse would quell any of their consternation about that."

"Maybe. But still… I'm wondering if you'd like me to continue speaking for us? I think I might… take Lanaya aside and explain it, if you don't mind." He rubbed his neck. "Unless… you don't still think she knew about any of this, do you?"

 _Lanaya._ She had completely forgotten about the existence of the pretty elf. Her stomach twisted. "Oh. No, I don't suppose she did."

"Yeah, that's what I figured. Anyway, I just think it might… go over a bit better if I tell her in private, and then she can make an announcement to the clan. She'll be the new keeper, so…" he trailed off with a shrug.

Images of a tearful Lanaya being comforted by Alistair's strong arms arose in Elissa's mind before she could stave them off. Nevertheless, she kept her expression blank. "That seems wise."

"Great! Glad you agree," he said, sounding forcefully cheerful. "Thanks," he added, before quickening his pace and resuming his position at the front of their party.

Later, the elven hunters that greeted them outside the camp seemed happy enough, and didn't even ask where Zathrian was, which made Elissa wonder just how much the rest of the camp already knew about his curse. She didn't have time to pull Alistair aside to voice her suspicions, however, before he left to go speak with Lanaya.

* * *

She threw herself into the work of setting up camp and getting supplies. They'd left some of their gear behind on purpose, so she was able to trade a few items with Varathorn to get her old armor back along with some extra bedding and clothing. Solona and Leliana had found some rare ironwood in the forest that Varathorn offered to craft it into something. Considering Alistair had lost most of his armor, Elissa requested that he make a chest piece for him.

After she'd traded for new supplies, she changed into a simple Dalish dress and started setting up in a corner of their camp. She hung up a few extra blankets to cordon off her work area, before piling up a few wooden crates to make a sort of desk, and used another crate as a chair.

Waiting for Alistair to return was torturous. They'd had time enough to eat dinner and for her to make a whole slew of potions, but he still hadn't returned. The more time passed, the more miserable she felt, so when Morrigan brushed aside one of the blankets and stepped up to her make-shift table, Elissa looked up with a wince.

_Oh right._

"You've been busy." Morrigan raised her eyebrows when she saw the collection of potions Elissa had already crafted. "You do realize we'll be leaving soon? Lugging around extra potions will be impractical…"

"They aren't all for us. I'm leaving a stash with the elves." At Morrigan's flat look, Elissa shrugged. "Without Zathrian, the clan is down to only one mage. I figured extra healing potions would be much appreciated."

Morrigan looked skeptical, but didn't question her. _Good_. In truth, she just needed to do something, anything, to occupy her mind while she waited for Alistair.

 _Well, almost anything._ "Look, Morrigan, I know I said we could talk tonight but… can it keep for another night? I'm… frankly it's been an exhausting couple of days."

Morrigan pursed her lips. "The conversation will keep, of course. We can speak on the morrow." She turned to go, but then said over her shoulder, "I'll tell Alistair to leave you alone as well, considering how tired you are—"

"No!" Elissa felt her face warm as Morrigan narrowed her eyes. "No," she said again in a more normal voice. "That conversation can't wait." She added with an apologetic smile, "Warden business."

"Of course," Morrigan said smoothly and then cocked her head to the side. "Shall I send Solona your way when I see her then?"

Elissa's smile morphed into a wince. "Alright, fine. It _isn't_ Warden business. It's business of a more… personal nature."

Morrigan raised an eyebrow.

"And… and frankly, whatever it is you want me to discuss now, I'll be too distracted to give the matter the focus I'm sure it deserves."

She braced herself for another acerbic response, but it never came. "Very well," was all the witch said, before she turned and left.

Elissa turned back to her potions and frowned thoughtfully. _Morrigan must want a favor,_ she thought idly, _to be so easily put off_.

Resting her elbows on the table and her head on her hand, she stared at the bottles before her. _What is taking Alistair so long?_ Perhaps she didn't want to know…

She blinked slowly, feeling herself getting pulled into the Fade. "No. I need to stay awake."

Staring at the vial before her, she realized she had no idea what potion she'd been making or what step she was on in the process. Stifling a yawn, she emptied the contents into her scrap pile and started again.

* * *

A warm hand on Elissa's shoulder brought her out of the Fade. She jerked awake with a gasp.

"Ahh!" Alistair's face was close to hers. "Sorry," he said, straightening. "I didn't mean to scare you."

Her heart was still racing in her chest from being startled awake, and Alistair's sudden presence did nothing to slow it down. She looked around, trying to get her bearings. "Oh right," she mumbled. "I was making potions and waiting for…"

She looked up with wide eyes and swallowed. Her decision not to rehearse any part of this conversation suddenly seemed a very poor one.

When she said nothing else, Alistair coughed into his hand. "Sorry again for waking you. I just thought… you know… you'd get an awful crick in your neck, sleeping like that."

"Right," Elissa said, feeling like her tongue was too heavy in her mouth. He was finally here, and she couldn't even speak. "Thanks."

"Sure. Anyway, you're obviously beat. I can let you get some rest—"

"No! Don't go!" His eyebrows rose at her startled exclamation, and Elissa felt her face grow hot, but it didn't matter. She couldn't let him leave. "You still owe me a report on your conversation with Lanaya," she said, trying to regain her composure. Smoothing her skirts, she rose and faced him. "How did it go?"

"Fine. It turns out that Lanaya already knew that Zathrian was dead."

"She did? How? Wait, don't tell me." She frowned and paused a moment, before giving an exasperated sigh. "It was magic, wasn't it?"

"Something like that. She said she 'felt it' when he passed, whatever that means. I guess… she had her suspicions… about Zathrian's connection to the curse. But… he never wanted to speak of it, and I don't think she'd guessed the extent of it."

She could tell that he was watching her closely, trying to gauge her reaction to the news. A small, petty part of her thought about how easily she could paint Lanaya as complicit with Zathrian's designs, but… no, she wouldn't do that. "That's understandable. Suspicions are one thing, and without proof…" She shrugged. "And he was her Keeper."

"Yeah, exactly. And especially after all that he did for her. You know, she wasn't born to the clan. He actually rescued her." His voice dropped low. "Her family was killed and she was kidnapped by humans. Can you even imagine?"

She could, of course, but she kept from spitting that out at him. The fact that Lanaya's past might be even more tragic than her own rankled her. _Irrational_. As if the woman who'd suffered worse would be the one to earn Alistair's heart. _Silly_.

 _Still…_ She cleared her throat and then said in as casual a tone she could muster, "The two of you must have had a lot to talk about."

"Uh, sure, I guess."

"You were gone a long time."

"Oh. Yeah, I wasn't… we only talked a little while. I've been off by myself… thinking."

 _Thinking?_ "Oh? That's… kind of ironic. I've spent most of the day trying not to. I guess we're both a bit out of our element." As soon as the words were out, she frowned. "No… I… that makes it sound like you're stupid… I didn't meant it like that. I'm sorry. I was trying to be funny." Her shoulders slumped. "I'm not very good at it."

"Um." He looked like he was fighting a grin. "That's fine… I… that's funny. Really."

His expression was encouraging. She edged closer. "So, what were you thinking about?"

He ran his hand through his hair, walked over to the crate and sat down. "I've mostly been thinking about how you were right."

"About anything in particular?"

He stared at the ground for a few heartbeats before finally looking up at her. "About everything."

It shouldn't have, but his pronouncement sounded more foreboding than encouraging. Taking a deep breath, she stepped over to the crate and sat down next to him. "What do you mean?"

"Just that… you were right about everything. You always are, aren't you? I'm sorry… I should have… I should have seen it all sooner. I'm sorry it took me so long."

He got up and walked away, The small campfire that burned in the middle of her camp cast fearsome shadows on the blanket she'd hung. Alistair faced it, adding his silhouette to the formless patterns.

Elissa's throat had gone dry. _Where is he going with this?_ A second later, it came to her. _Of course…_ "Is this about the whole king business?"

He turned and faced her at that. "For starters. But not just that. I didn't want to admit it at the time but… you were right… to sacrifice Darrian to heal Eamon."

Darrian's panicked voice echoed in her mind. _Elissa, what the fuck!?… Why would you do this to me?_

She stood, trying to shake the memory. "Really?"

He shrugged. "Eamon's alive and you know what? I'm really glad about it! I'm glad you didn't tell me what you were planning with Darrian because I'd have probably just buggered it up." His frown deepened. "And you were right… about us."

 _No._ "I was?"

He stepped closer—his eyes were glassy and his voice hoarse. "Our lives… they just keep getting more complicated, don't they? And… I get it now. Why you did what you did. We have a job to do: defeating the Blight. That has to come above whatever any single one of us wants."

Elissa found it hard to breathe. Alistair had said nothing that she hadn't said herself, many times. _He's being perfectly logical._ "Oh," she said, voice barely above a whisper. "I see."

"We owe it to Ferelden to get Loghain off the throne. If that means my taking it instead, I'll… I'll do it."

They were standing quite close, it suddenly occurred to Elissa. _When had that happened?_ She had to crane her neck to look up at him. "I see," she said again.

He didn't move. The knot in his throat moved. "Even if that means… even if that means we have to ignore how we feel."

A part of her brain protested dimly that she'd already proved that such a thing was impossible, at least for her, but she couldn't form any words. She was caught in Alistair's gaze. _I have to say something._ Surely she could make some argument to sway him? Again, she cursed herself for not preparing. "Right. That… that all sounds very… logical," she heard herself say.

Yet neither of them moved.

Looking up at his handsome face, she was taken back to the moment she'd kissed him for the very first time. It had been an impulsive action—at the time, she'd found her own behavior utterly mystifying.

And yet… she didn't regret it. In fact, every time she thought about it now it was with fond nostalgia. It was a rare occasion in which she'd merely acted, and hadn't overanalyzed her every move.

Coming up with a romantic speech to sway him... that wasn't her forte. What argument could she use? None of this made any sense. She was tired of trying to understand it.

It had only been a few seconds, surely, that they'd stood there staring into each other's eyes, though it felt like an eternity. It was now or never…

_Don't think… act._

So she did. She hurled herself at him—jumping up to her tiptoes and wrapping her arms around his neck, intending to pull him down into a sudden kiss…

But she didn't need to. Apparently they were both struck by the same inescapable impulse. He bent his head and wrapped his arms around her, and when their lips met, it was as if a dam burst. Her hunger for his kiss was matched by his own. He lifted her up just as he'd done in the cave, and she wrapped her legs around his hips as he cupped her ass. He turned and set her down on the pile of crates she'd been using as a table.

The sudden scratch of his beard's shadow against her skin as he dragged his lips over her jaw, her neck, and her ear made her head spin. She was panting loudly, rutting against him until they jostled the crate and a tinkle of broken glass alerted them to their surroundings. Alistair pulled back just enough to look into her eyes. His lips were wet and his eyes dark with lust. "Tent?"

"Yes. Tent."

He picked her up again and she pressed her mouth against his neck as he carried her. He had to kneel a bit to get through the tent's opening, and then the two of them were tumbling to the ground, breathless and giggling.

 _Are we really doing this…?_ She lay on her back and Alistair climbed on top of her.

Elissa froze, overtaken by a sudden sharp dread. "This is real, right? I'm not dreaming? You're not… drugged or something?"

He lowered himself gently and nuzzled her ear. "Feels pretty real to me."

That was true enough, Elissa decided, foregoing any more questions and getting back to the business of kissing every inch of his jaw. Their hands worked at each other's clothes—his, hiking up her dress while her fingers worked at his belt. She yanked at it futilely, eliciting a chuckle that rumbled in her ear and made her flesh tingle all the way down the right side of her body. He placed his hand over hers, and helped her remove the belt, and then shifted so he was on his knees. With a few swift movements he'd pulled off his shirt, pants, and smalls and thrown them to the side.

 _He's naked,_ she thought dimly, wishing there was more light in the tent. He started forward, but she put a hand on his chest and stopped him so she could sit up and pull her dress over her head. It got stuck halfway off, and with another intoxicating chuckle, Alistair helped her tug it off. She lay back down, wriggling out of the last thin scrap of clothing between them—her smalls—and throwing them to the side of the tent.

He crawled back over her, kissing her deeply as she wrapped her legs around him. She'd imagined this moment so many times, but the reality held unexpected and intoxicating little details. The way his weight felt solid against her… the hair on his chest that brushed against her naked breasts… the sound of his ragged breathing… all combined to make her brain fog with desire.

He was hard and warm between her legs. Elissa writhed against him and he gasped and froze for a few moments, before lifting slightly and reaching his hand down between them. "Elissa," he said in an urgent whisper. "Can… can I…?"

"Yes, Maker, please…"

She'd never really thought about the mechanics of it before… that he would need to… guide himself… and she felt suddenly awkward at the fumbling between them as he tried to push against her and wasn't quite… there.

"Um," she said, feeling her face flame into a blush. "Just…" She reached down and grabbed him, and her eyes went wide. His girth was not unexpected—they'd explored enough that she knew… but… she didn't expect the velvety softness of his skin under her palm, and for a moment she reveled in simply holding him.

He stilled at her touch, and groaned in her ear in a way that made the ache between her legs agonizing. With a deep breath, she shifted her hips and tried to guide the tip of him to the right spot. _There._

She was so wet, and Alistair didn't need anymore prodding. He shifted and put his hand over hers and took over. _Oh._ He had it right this time _._

 _It won't fit,_ she thought dumbly, and then Alistair's hand moved to her hip and he _pushed_ forward and then…

 _Ouch._ She exhaled noisily and closed her eyes. It wasn't… it wasn't that bad, actually… it was just a bit… full… and stingy.

She opened her eyes. Alistair's face was buried in her hair by her ear, and he was whispering gibberish. She made out every other word. "You… Elissa… Maker…"

His reaction made the ache between her legs feel… not so bad. Exhaling loudly again, she rolled her hips just a bit to see and… _Oh…_

Her movements elicited a sharp gasp, and Alistair's body went taut. "I'm sorry… I can't… I can't…"

_Can't what?_

But the realization of just what he couldn't do (or rather, couldn't _not_ do) hit her a second later, and with it, the pain between her legs eased decidedly. " _Oh_."

She didn't want it to end and yet…

"Look at me." When he did, she caressed his face. "I… I meant what I said before," she whispered, willing him to believe her. "I love you."

"I…" His jaw muscles went taut as his mouth gaped open, and then his back arched and there was a rush of warmth as he moaned wordlessly, his face pressed against the palm of her hand. At last he collapsed on top of her, his chest heaving against her own.

She smiled to herself as she lightly raked his back with her fingers. Pride, absurd as it was, surged through her. Pleasing a man wasn't supposed to be difficult, but watching him come completely undone with her was just...

How long would take before she could bring him to that point again?

But first…

Alistair's weight made it hard to breathe. He was going soft inside her, and for a few moments the two of them lay there panting heavily, before he pushed off. "I'm sorry… I'm probably crushing you."

He collapsed on his side next to her with another groan.

It was cold without his weight and warmth. And also a bit… damp.

He scooted close to her and cupped her face with his hand. For a moment, he simply stared. "That was… wow."

Her skin tingled. Her heart still hammered in her chest. She found it difficult to talk. "Yeah."

"Are you… are you alright?" His thumb caressed her cheek. "Did I hurt you?"

She shook her head, feeling guilty only for a moment about the little lie. Her body was still a tightly coiled spring. "No, it's just… um… do you remember that time in the alley in Denerim…?"

"Are you kidding? Of course I remember that. I'll never forget it."

Gently, she put her hand over his, and started pulling it down. "Do you think you could…perhaps… do that thing again?"

"Oh!" he said, and Elissa didn't need to see him to tell that he was blushing. "I… of course. I mean…" He slid his hand between her legs and started kissing her neck. "That does seem like the gentlemanly thing to do."

Once his fingers started moving, Elissa was so thoroughly absorbed in the pleasure coursing through her that for once she really was able to cease thinking entirely.

Until he stopped. "Why… why did you stop?" she panted.

He chuckled into her hair and then Elissa heard it, too. Someone was throwing pebbles against their tent, while another someone let out a lascivious wolf whistle. Her brain was too fogged with desire to understand at first. Alistair's hand was still between her legs. The contact was distracting.

"Um," he whispered in her ear, making her hips twitch. "It's just… I mean, _I_ don't mind at all of course—not even a little bit, but you know… you're being a bit… loud."

Her eyes went wide, and she brought up a hand to her mouth. They stared at each other for a second, before they both burst into giggles.

"Alright," she said breathlessly, when the embarrassed laughter faded. "I can be quiet."

She squirmed until Alistair started moving his hand again. Pressing her lips together to stifle her moans, she lost herself to the sensations his fingers elicited. Something about trying to remain quiet made the pleasure more intense and it wasn't long before she was bucking underneath his hand, grinding herself against his fingers as she buried her face in the crook of his neck. She was so close…

"Maker," she whispered into his neck. "Don't stop. Don't stop!"

Thankfully Alistair seemed to get the gist. She went still for a heartbeat as she peaked, and then she was curling herself around his arm, her thighs pressed together tightly as she rode the waves of her orgasm.

A feeling of utter calm and bliss settled over her, as Alistair slowly slid his hand out from between her legs. He gathered her limp body up in his arms and kissed the top of her head as her eyes fluttered close.

He stroked her hair and her back. She had no intention of falling asleep, but the longer they lay there, with her head resting against his chest, the harder it was to open her eyes and say something.

"I love you, too," he whispered.

She smiled into his chest and exhaled—her muscles had turned to jelly, and before she could formulate an answer, a wave of sleepiness overtook her and she slipped into the Fade, dreamless and at peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another Author's note: I truly meant to include this when I first published, but I wanted to say that the last scene with Alistair and Elissa was heavily influenced and inspired by one of my favorite kink!meme fills. The work in question is here:http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/3486.html?thread=18450846#t18450846. I loved this fill so much when I read it, I instantly integrated it into my headcanon for Alistair and Elissa. I've tried to adapt the basic ideas to the P&W situation, but I want to give a shout out to whoever wrote this fill, b/c it is one of my all time favorites!


	66. Pleasure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair gets some advice.

_Who are, who are we to stay away?_

_—No Guilt In Pleasure,_ MS MR

Waking up to Elissa nuzzling his neck was a singular pleasure. Alistair was content, at first, to drift on the edge the Fade while he slowly regained consciousness. After a while, however, the urge to pull her closer became paramount, so he rolled toward her and wrapped his arm around her… except instead of feeling her soft, smooth skin against his naked chest he felt short, scratchy fur.

His eyes popped open. Prince licked his face, wiggling his whole body as he wagged his tail. He pushed the beast away and sat up. “Ugh! What are you doing here?”

He looked around the tent with bleary eyes.

Elissa was gone.

Prince pawed at his hand, so Alistair started scratching the hound’s head, trying to ignore the pit in his gut. Prince was here, after all. Maybe that was a good sign? _Where is she?_ He hoped she didn’t regret last night…

Because he didn’t… even if… even if her not being her here this morning was a bad sign, he still couldn’t regret last night. It had been everything... _Maker,_ it’d been… well, thinking about it now was probably not the best idea, if he planned on leaving the tent soon. But, it wasn’t just the sex. It was the way the two had drifted asleep in each other’s arms, content and so… peaceful. He couldn’t remember a single dream.

Waking up beside her would have been nice, of course, but if last night was all they were going to have, he supposed he could understand why she had slipped out… even if it hurt his heart to admit it.

Still… it might not mean anything. Keeping his expectations low had become something of a defense mechanism lately, yet he harbored a shred of hope that _maybe…_

_I won’t know until I get up and find her..._

Just as he was about to reach for his pants, the tent flaps rustled, and he felt a familiar buzzing return to the back of his head. He only had a second to pull up the wool blanket they’d shared last night before Elissa slipped inside.

She was wearing a cloak that billowed out around her when she sat down, placing a bundle of cloth on the tent floor. “Oh, you’re up!” she said, untying the cloak’s strings and letting it fall. “I was hoping to get back before you woke.”

Underneath the cloak she wore the white nightgown she’d had since Lothering. It was a frilly monstrosity, and if Alistair was being honest he sort of wished she’d given it away to the werewolves, but now with her hair mussed and unbound, sitting cross-legged in her tent… she’d never been more beautiful. Her smile lessened the tightness in his chest.

Before he could think of a response, Elissa frowned at Prince. “You didn’t wake him, did you?”

Prince looked up at him, and though it sounded crazy, Alistair would have sworn he could interpret just exactly what the dog meant by his expression. It read, _don’t rat me out or you’ll pay._

“Um, no. I woke up on my own.”

“Oh, good,” Elissa said, rummaging around in the sack she’d brought and fishing out a large bone.

Prince’s ears perked up at the sight, and he turned and sat in front of Elissa as if he were the most well behaved mabari in history.

_You’re not fooling me, mutt._

“You want this?” Elissa gestured with the bone. The dog licked his chops. “Alright, here,” she said, handing it over. She nodded at the tent flaps. “Now get out of here.”

Miraculously, he obeyed, snatching the bone out of Elissa’s outstretched hand. He shot Alistair one last warning look and then darted out of the tent.

_That hound is too smart for anyone’s good._

Elissa scooted closer, moving the sack of food with her. “I couldn’t wait to eat. I’m so incredibly hungry this morning,” she explained, pulling out some flat bread, breaking it in half and offering some to Alistair.

It was still warm. “Me too,” Alistair said, before taking a large bite.

She also had cheese made of halla milk, an assortment of nuts and berries, and a waterskin filled with cold water. They ate in amiable silence—most of their companions knew better than to try to get a Grey Warden to talk before breakfast, so it wasn’t odd, at least at first.

Once the food disappeared, Alistair felt a bit of his anxiety return. “So… where do we go from here?”

Elissa was still chewing. She held up a finger and then took a long pull from her water-skin before passing it to Alistair. “Well,” she said, after wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, “I think we’ll stay here at least a few days. Everyone could use the rest, and besides, Master Varathorn needs time to finish the ironwood armor he’s crafting for you.”

“Oh? I didn’t realize that was happening,” he said, before drinking out of the water-skin. When he was done, he set it aside before clearing his throat. “But that’s uh… not really what I meant. I meant… where are you and I going.” At her confused look he went on. “Last night we… said a lot of things… and then we went and did the exact opposite.”

Her grin fled. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Oh. Right.”

Was this a mistake? It occurred to him that she never really reacted well to this kind of questioning. “Look, it’s alright either way. I’m just trying to… manage my expectations. If you think last night was a mistake—”

“It wasn’t a mistake.”

“I… really?”

“At least… I don’t think so.” She frowned and looked at her hands. “I… I don’t have any facts or reasons to support that assertion and yet I know it’s true.” Jutting out her chin, she leveled a defiant look at him. “All I know is that you almost died two days ago… by _my_ hand. I could never have predicted such a thing and yet… it almost happened.” Her eyes glistened, but her voice remained steady. “And it would have been so _stupid…_ ” She shook her head and gave a frustrated huff. “I have no idea what ridiculous situation we’ll wind up in next but I do know now, with all my heart, that the only thing that makes sense to me is that I want to spend whatever time I have left making you happy instead of making us both miserable.”

For a moment, it was hard for Alistair to breathe. Her argument was more than compelling. Slowly, he reached out and brushed his thumb against her cheek. “I thought I was going to have to love you from afar for the rest of my life,” he whispered. “I’ll take what I can get.”

They stared at each other for a heartbeat, and then as one they leaned in for a kiss. It was tentative and soft at first, but before long he found his hands buried in her hair and Elissa sitting in his lap. Letting go of her tresses, he slipped his hands beneath her nightgown and smiled. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath it.

“I’m a lucky, lucky man,” he murmured, as his hands wandered over the bare skin of her hips and bottom. Slowly, he lie back down with Elissa lying on top of him. He was still naked from the night before, so they just needed to get rid of that blasted nightgown and they’d be ready…

Elissa must’ve had the same thought, for she sat up and pulled it off.

The sight of her naked body never failed to take his breath away. “Maker’s breath, you’re beautiful.”

Smiling, she bent down to kiss him again. He wrapped his arms around her waist and they rolled over so he was on top. There was no fumbling as he entered her—he was a quick learner, he supposed.

It was almost as overwhelming as the first time, and for a moment he could do nothing but breathe into her hair. Determined as he was to last longer, it took him a few seconds to realize that Elissa had gone completely stiff.

He lifted his head. Her face was scrunched up tightly, and while he knew enough now to understand that a lot of pleasure could sometimes look like pain, something in the way she’d stiffened clued him in that this wasn’t the good kind of wince.

He pulled out—feeling guilty at how good the sensation felt—and moved so he could lie beside her. “What’s wrong? Are you alright?”

She frowned and sat up. “I’m fine it’s just… I thought it was only supposed to hurt the first time.”

He sat up too, feeling like he’d just been punched in the gut. “Wait, what? You… you said it didn’t hurt…” His eyes tracked to the bed roll under them, and to his horror he saw a few drops of dried blood. His stomach dropped. “’Liss, why didn’t you tell me?”

She shook her head. “It really wasn’t that bad. I mean, it hurt some at first, but then it… didn’t. And then, you know…” She shrugged. “It was over.”

Now he was blushing from the top of his head to his toes, he was sure. “That’s… I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean…”

“Nonsense, Alistair! Stop it… last night was the most perfect… don’t say that. I wouldn’t change a single detail.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.” She frowned. “I just don’t know why… now it’s just… not like last night…”

“Oh. You don’t think… is there something wrong with you?”

As soon as the words were out, he regretted them. Elissa didn't answer; she hunched over, hugging her knees to her chest.

_Why did I say something so stupid?_ “No, I didn’t mean… I shouldn’t have said that,” he said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Obviously there’s nothing wrong with you. You’re perfect. It must be me. I must be doing something wrong.” She didn’t say anything. He had to do _something_. “I’ll talk to Zevran.”

Elissa looked up in surprise. “You’d do that?”

_What did I just agree to?_ “Of course.”

Her face brightened considerably.“That’s a great idea! Zevran’s very experienced in sex. I’m sure he’ll know just what to do.”

“Right. That’s… that’s great.”

“Excellent. I’ll speak with Leliana, as well. Between the two of them we should get some useful advice.”

A part of him wanted to tell her not to say anything—Leliana might tell Solona, and he really didn’t want half the camp to know that he apparently had no idea what he was doing with regards to sex. But, Elissa seemed so much cheerier now that they had a solid plan, and well… maybe if she spoke to Leliana he wouldn’t have to talk to Zevran…

_Stop being a bloody coward._ “Great,” he said, forcing a smile. “I’m sure you’re right.”

He turned and looked around, searching for the corner where he’d tossed his clothing last night. He started to reach for his pants, when Elissa put a hand on his arm. “What are you doing?”

“Um, I was going to… get dressed?”

Her expression turned unreadable. “Oh.”

“Is that… I mean I figured… you know… if it’s not… shouldn’t I?”

She cocked her head to the side and smiled. “There are other things that we can do…”

“Right!” he said, and let Elissa push him back down on to his back. “I knew that. I just wasn’t sure if you would want to after… and I wouldn’t want to assume…” She started kissing his neck and he closed his eyes. “Right. I’m just going to… stop talking.”

* * *

 

Alistair was never more relieved when they exited the tent later ( _much later_ , he thought with a grin) and discovered Zevran wasn’t around. Not that he wasn’t planning to talk to him—he knew he had to. He just didn’t relish the idea and besides, he had other things he needed to do first. Like eat again. And take a bath. And he just remembered he wanted to check on the injured halla he’d helped with…

He took his time with his to-do list, and when he’d finished everything, the sun was still high in the sky. _I should just get this over with,_ he thought, but before he started looking for Zevran in earnest, he should probably find Wynne and see if she could mend a shirt for him. She’d promised him she’d do it, and he’d forgotten all about it. Now was as good a time as any to remind her.

He was walking by Elissa’s tent, lost in thought, when he overheard Leliana’s voice.

“Didn’t Isabela teach you anything?”

Alistair froze and looked around. No one was near by. Trying to appear casual, he crept closer to the tent, and knelt, as if inspecting something on the ground.

“Well,” Elissa said. “That was… I mean, she said women were good for six things, but I was pretty inebriated. I fell asleep after only one.”

To Alistair’s horror, Solona chuckled. _She’s part of the conversation? Oh no…_

Elissa went on. “Honestly, I’m starting to wonder if half the stories she told me weren’t greatly exaggerated.” Her voice lowered. “I don’t think some of them are physically possible.”

Leliana, for her part, didn’t laugh. “I see. Well, I can help you. The first thing you need to know is the importance of open and honest communication. You need to be able to trust your partner enough to tell them what you like and what you don’t like.”

He heard Elissa gave a frustrated sigh. “Don’t you have any actually useful advice?”

Solona chuckled again. “You have to know your audience, sweetheart. Elissa doesn’t want a treatise on the emotional part of fucking. She wants hard facts… you know, charts and diagram type shit.”

“Yes! Diagrams would be wonderful _._ Do you have any?”

Leliana sounded annoyed. “No! Of course I don’t have diagrams… why would I?”

Alistair was so busy trying not to laugh that he didn’t notice the approach of anyone else until he felt someone give his ear a hard pinch. He suppressed a cry of pain.

It was Wynne. She started walking, dragging him with her to the center of camp.

“Alright, alright I’m sorry,” he said once they were out of earshot. “Please let go.”

Finally, she did. Wynne’s scowl was ten different shades of disappointed. “What on earth were you doing spying on your companions?”

“I wasn’t spying! At least, not intentionally. I just happened by and then I heard… and I… got curious.”

His explanation did nothing to lessen Wynne’s ire. “Curious? That’s your excuse? What’s gotten into you? This isn’t like you.”

Falling back into old habits, Alistair tried his best to exude remorse. He bent his head and toed at the dirt. “I know. I have no excuse. I’m sorry. Are you… are you going to tell anyone?”

It seemed like the act might be working, until Wynne narrowed her eyes. “That depends. What exactly were they talking about that got you so curious?”

_Oh no._ “Nothing! I mean… I don’t know. I forgot.”

She gave him that _look_ —a familiar one from his days at the monastery. It meant, _I’m not buying any of this, young man._

Was he really going to have to explain this? “Alright fine, it wasn’t nothing,” he said, feeling his face warm. “It was…they were talking about… sex.”

Wynne’s eyebrows rose, and her lips twitched as if she were fighting a grin. “Oh. Well, I suppose, now that you're in an intimate relationship, you should learn about where babies really come from.”

The buzzing in his skull from Solona and Elissa nearby combined with his utter humiliation made him slow to comprehend what Wynne was saying. “Pardon?”

Her expression turned thoughtful. “I know the Chantry says you dream about your babies and the good Fade spirits take them out of the Fade and leave them in your arms... but that's not true. Actually what happens is that when a girl and a boy really love each other—”

His eyes went wide in horror. “ _Andraste's flaming sword!_ I know where babies come from!”

“Oh, alright then. Well, look, you're all red and mottled. How cute.”

“You did that on purpose!”

Wynne chuckled. “Just remember that the next time you have the urge to eavesdrop on your companions.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve learned my lesson.”

Wynne smiled, and then turned and sat on one of the logs they’d placed around their central campfire. She patted the space next to her. “Speaking of lessons, if you have any questions about sex, Alistair, I’d be perfectly willing to answer them.”

_Maker, no._ “Uhhh… no, no thanks, I’m good. Thanks. I need to go find Zevran and uh… anyway, bye.”

He didn’t wait for a response before fleeing. Wynne’s amused chuckle followed him out of the camp as he bolted away, shirt mending all but forgotten.

* * *

 

Alistair found Zevran on the other side of camp, standing next to one of the Dalish hunters.

“Zev!”

The Dalish hunter jumped and then blushed, before he mumbled a goodbye and darted away. _Odd._

Zevran turned toward him with a flat expression. “Alistair. Whatever can I do for you?”

Part of him still wanted to come up with some excuse and flee like the hunter had, but he wasn’t going to leave this to Elissa to solve alone. He’d done that too much already. “Can we talk?”

Zevran shrugged his shoulders.

“Not here,” Alistair said, glancing around. “Come on. Follow me.”

He started walking toward the woods and Zevran followed. After a few minutes, Zevran gave a little cough. “My dear Warden, just where are you taking me?”

“Huh? Oh, right.” Alistair stopped and looked around. “This is probably far enough. I just don’t want anyone to overhear us.”

“Indeed? Now you’ve got me quite intrigued…”

Ignoring Zevran’s teasing tone, Alistair took a deep breath. “Right. Well… look there’s no easy way to say this… I need your… help, with something. With Elissa.”

“Is there some task she wishes you to perform that you’re incapable of, perhaps?”

“What? No… ugh.” He put his hands over his face. “Must you make this harder than it already is?”

Zevran laughed. “Is that what you need help with? Making things hard?”

“You know what? This was a bad idea. Never mind.” Alistair walked a few steps in the direction of camp before stopping and letting his shoulders slump. What was he doing? He couldn’t just bail on this… he’d promised Elissa. He turned back Zevran, who still stood in the same spot, looking up at Alistair in undisguised amusement. “Alright, fine. Make fun all you want. I guess I’ve earned it. I still need your help.” He knew his face was probably beet red, but he plunged ahead nevertheless. “With sex. I… I don’t want to hurt her again.”

Zevran arched an eyebrow. “Well, well. Perhaps you are not so hopeless after all, if you’re willing to put Elissa’s needs before your own.”

He wasn’t quite sure if Zevran was being sincere. “So… you’ll help me?”

“Of course.” Zevran looked around and then stepped over to a fallen log and sat, patting the spot beside him in a gesture that was oddly reminiscent of Wynne. Reluctantly, Alistair walked over and sat down. “Now, tell me what happened last night between you, sparing no detail. We can analyze your every move.”

Alistair recoiled in horror. “That’s so not going to happen.”

Zevran laughed. “I tease, my large friend. I’m quite sure I can surmise the details myself. Let’s see… once the clothes came off, you wasted no time before sticking it in her, hmm?”

He wouldn’t have thought it possible for the blushing to get worse, yet Zevran’s crude summation made Alistair’s face feel like it was on fire. “Well, I… sort of thought that’s the way it works. What should I have done differently?”

Zevran shook his head and _tsked._ “Do you Fereldans teach your children nothing about making love? Shameful, the lack of knowledge. Fortunately, you’ve asked an Antivan for help. Come, we need to head back to camp and see if we can’t find a piece of ripe fruit.”

Alistair stood when Zevran did. “Fruit? What’s that for?”

“All in good time, my friend. First we must go over a few basics.”

* * *

When Alistair made his way back to their corner of the Dalish encampment, the sun had painted the western half of the sky in vibrant orange, red, and purple. Zevran had talked to him for quite a while, filling his head with so much information he wondered if he’d ever possibly retain it all. Fortunately the conversation also filled him with dogged determination to be good at this, in addition to no small amount of anticipation about getting back to Elissa and showing her everything he’d learned.

When he slipped into her tent, he found her sitting with her head bent over a book, a lantern lit on the tent floor beside her, wearing the same simple brown and green Dalish dress he’d found her in yesterday. Her hair streamed down her back, but it was pulled away from her forehead in a slender braid that continued over one shoulder. She looked up with a bright smile. “There you are,” she said, closing her book and setting it down. “I wondered where you’d gone off to.”

Alistair sat down and pulled off his boots, his back to her. “Sorry,” he said over his shoulder. “I just, um… lost track of time I guess.”

Elissa scooted forward while he wrestled with his boots, trailing a hand up his neck and the back of his head. “Your hair is wet. Did you take another bath?”

“Um, yeah,” he said, feeling sheepish. “It’s… sort of a long story.”

It was more embarrassing than long, in truth. His conversation with Zevran had been beyond educational. It had also been… well… Zev had specifically said he should _take care of himself_ prior to sleeping with Elissa, so a second bath just made sense. Plus, he had to practice what he’d learned with the ripe peach Zevran had managed to procure for him. He’d been too embarrassed to attempt such a thing in front of anyone.

_“Are you… sure about this?” Alistair’s eyebrows pulled together as he gazed down at the fruit with the obscene red valley in its center. “I don’t mean to second guess you or anything it’s just…” His voice dropped to a whisper. “She’s a_ lady. _”_

Zevran had thrown back his head and cackled at that _,_ so Alistair was fairly certain the practice had been worth it. But it made him a little late for his evening rendezvous with Elissa.

“I’m sorry,” he said, before turning and giving her a deep but brief kiss. “Forgive me?”

She seemed a bit flustered by the sudden kiss. “Of course,” she said, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “I trust your conversation with Zevran was illuminating?”

Scooting backward, he lay down, pulling her with him. “It was. And you? Did you talk to Leliana?” _As if I don’t know…_

“I did.” Turning on her side, she propped her head up with her hand and gave him an excited smile. “I learned a great deal. I had no idea there was that much to know about sexual intercourse.” She looked down. “It really is well… a little embarrassing.”

Apparently he wasn’t the only one who’d sacrificed a little pride. Elissa hated not knowing things above all else—admitting to other people that there were things she didn’t know was probably a close second.

He reached out and brushed his fingertips against her cheek. “Hey, it’s not like we could help it. Apparently us Fereldans…” He slipped into his best Zevran impersonation. “…are terribly old fashioned when it comes to matters of passion.”

“Is that so? What else did he tell you?”

Alistair spoke with an even thicker Antivan accent this time. “A woman’s body is not a meal to be consumed. It is an instrument, and it takes time and dedication to learn how to play it, no?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Did he have any _useful_ advice?”

Alistair chuckled. Clearly, Elissa had little use for vague platitudes. He moved close. “Um,” he said, leaning over until his lips were an inch from her ear. “I’d really rather show you than tell you…”

“Oh! That does seem like a practical approach,” she said, her voice going all breathy, before rolling onto her back.

He bent his head to softly brush his lips against hers, pulling back after the barest of touches. “Just… tell me if you don’t like something or if anything hurts or… just tell me, alright?”

She nodded solemnly, before wrapping her hands behind his neck and pulling him down to kiss her. He obliged, enjoying the simple pleasure of pressing their bodies close and exploring each other’s mouths.

_If you remember nothing else about this lesson, remember this: take your time._

That seemed like excellent advice. They had all night, right? He started off kissing her slowly, languidly, but before long the two of them grew more passionate, rolling around the tent floor and grinding against each other. He had no idea how long they’d been at it when Elissa broke their kiss and pushed off of him. She was breathing hard and her cheeks were flushed. “Ali… can we take our clothes off yet?”

“Yes, of course,” he said, grinning as she sat up and started pulling the dress over her head. “Here, let me help.”

He’d had this plan where they’d slowly remove each other’s clothing, reveling in each article’s removal, but Elissa had other ideas and to be frank, he weak. If Elissa wanted to take her clothes off, he wasn’t going to stop her.

They quickly shed their clothing and tossed it aside.

She lay back down, and Alistair went from kissing her mouth to her neck, enjoying the hitch in her breathing when he moved still further down to her collarbone. His hands ghosted over her breasts, feeling her nipples pebble under his palm.

_Pay attention to her breathing, the little noises she makes, how she moves and touches you… if you’re observant it should be obvious when she’s experiencing pleasure._

Elissa ran her fingers through his hair and moaned softly as he moved to her breasts, gently kneading one while taking the other rosy, pert nipple in his mouth. He lavished slow, languid kisses on first one breast and then the other.

Slowly, he moved down her body. Feeling his throat go dry in anticipation, he placed himself between her legs, lavishing attention on her torso, kissing her taut stomach while teasingly moving lower and lower. When his lips reached her hip bone, he looked up to gauge her reaction. In spite of everything, he still half expected her to swat him away and tell him he was a terrible pervert.

But, he needn’t have worried. Her eyes were closed, her mouth open… her hands were balling the blanket beneath them in her fists. He smiled into her skin and worked his way still lower, trailing kisses down the inside of her thigh.

_Even if she gives every indication that she’s enjoying herself, it doesn’t hurt to check in with a question—you can be assured that she’s happy, while also delaying her gratification ever-so-slightly. If things are going very well, don’t be surprised if she begs you to continue._

The lantern bathed Elissa’s body in warm, golden light. Last night in the tent it’d been dark, and even before then, he’d never seen her at quite this angle. The triangle of golden curls was a mesmerizing sight. Her scent filled his nostrils. He licked his lips.

Running a thumb over her pretty pink slit, he spoke into her thigh. “Can I kiss you here?”

Elissa’s hips rose, as if begging for his mouth. “Maker, yes! Please,” she panted.

A flutter of nervousness made him hesitate but a moment, before he closed his eyes and kissed her between her legs. At first, he simply used his lips, teasing her for a few seconds before opening his mouth and deepening the kiss.

Her reaction was profound. Her back arched and she buried her hands in his hair, throwing back her head and moaning. _Maker!_ Watching her made his cock positively throb, and he wondered if he shouldn’t have taken care of himself more than once while he’d enjoyed a second bath…

But that didn’t matter, now… He flicked his tongue up and down her folds, enjoying her taste. Before long, he closed his eyes and lost track of time, lapping at her like she was a rare treat he was afraid would run out soon.

Her grip on his hair tightened, and her breathing grew more ragged… it was tempting to keep going, but he wanted more than just to watch her climax. Slowing his pace, he eased first one and then two fingers inside of her.

By now, her chest was heaving and she made little whimpering noises. He moved, still working his fingers inside of her as he kissed his way back up her body.

Finally, he slipped his hand out of her, balancing himself over her on his elbows.

Her eyes opened, wild and full of lust. “Why did you stop?”

In response, he simply lowered himself so that she could feel him, all of him, pressed between her legs.

Gasping, she rolled her hips, grinding her wet, warm center along his length. It was a delicious sort of torture to feel her writhe against him, to be so frustratingly close but not quite inside her...

When he could take it no longer, he reached between them and slowly, gently, guided himself into her, trying to focus on her face, to become attuned to her reaction, rather than just his own pleasure.

This time, the grimace she made looked nothing like pain. She threw her head back and moaned so loudly he was positive the whole Dalish camp heard them, but he didn’t care..

_How… how did all the stories and the songs fall so short of this?_ For a moment he simply marveled in the sensation of their bodies’ joining. But, he couldn’t focus on it overmuch—Zevran had warned him about that.

_“Once you’ve entered her, the game as they say, changes. Whereas for every second before this moment, you should be completely trained on her pleasure, on her responses… once you’ve begun fucking her in earnest, your goal should be to last as long as she needs you to. Even if that means focusing on the most repulsive image imaginable to delay your own release.”_

_Zevran had looked downright stern at that._

He went completely still and breathed into her hair.

Elissa didn’t seem to mind. She wrapped her legs around his hips and he was sure she crossed her feet behind his ass. She worked her hips up and down, riding him from below.

_Maker…_

Breathing deeply, he tried to move with her—thrusting his hips in the same rhythm as she. The sensation was almost too much, and he had to draw upon the discipline he’d learned as a Templar to keep from losing control.

_Darkspawn decomposing… giant spiders spitting venom…_

“Don’t stop… not yet... please don’t stop,” Elissa panted in his ear.

He winced his eyes close and balled his fists at either side of her head as she rutted underneath him, listening as her moans grew louder and high pitched.

_...there was this dead frog he found once on the shore of Lake Calenhad. It’d been swollen and smelled so rank…_

She dug her nails into his back as her hips started thrusting faster and faster. Just when he thought he couldn’t last a single second longer, Elissa gasped and then shuddered, and he _felt_ it as she came undone while he was inside her.

Her spasms milked him of the last of his restraint. He came, moaning wordlessly into her hair.

For a few moments—silent but for the sound of their labored breathing—they lie there, entwined together, naked and sated.

At last, Alistair unclenched his fists and collapsed onto his side next to her, draping an arm over her torso.

Elissa didn’t move other than to put her hand over his. Gazing up at the tent roof, she gave a contented sigh. “ _Maker._ ”

“I know, right?”

She chuckled, and then turned her head to look at him, a wicked grin spreading over her lips. “How long until you can do that again?”

Alistair lifted his head and arched an eyebrow. “Well, as a matter of fact, I’ve got a Warden side effect for you that I think you’re actually _really_ going to like.”

He grabbed her hand lowered it, making his point silently and… firmly.

Her eyes went wide. “Wow.”

He managed to wow her a few more times that night-—and she managed to wow _him_ with a few suggestions from Leliana—before they both finally collapsed, utterly and blissfully sated. His last conscious thought was that he owed a great debt to Zevran and Leliana for all the instructions, before he drifted into a peaceful and contented sleep.


	67. Destroy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solona discovers that the ancient vial is more trouble than it was worth.

_All of the lies we bent  
_ _Under the weight of the world  
_ _Caught beaten by the edge  
_ _Of the weight of the world  
_ — _Grow_ , Rae Morris

Bringing the ancient vial back from the werewolf ruin was the worst fucking idea Solona had ever had. During the day the vial didn't bother her so long as she didn't touch it, but at night visions of the altar plagued her. Screams of _liar_ and _promised_ haunted her every second she was in the Fade.

What was worse, she couldn't figure out how to get at the memories the blasted thing contained, so not only was the phylactery a giant pain in the ass, it was also a useless giant pain in the ass. After one night it became clear that she needed to destroy it. .

And yet, the phylactery proved to be indestructible. She tried smashing it on the rocks near camp, but the stupid thing didn't even crack. It looked like a delicate glass bottle, but it must've been protected by some magic she couldn't detect.

It also didn't seem to matter how far away it was from her. The first morning back in the Dalish camp, Solona had excused herself to practice shape-shifting in the woods. She'd walked until she found the river, and then tossed the vial into it, hoping the current would send the bottle far away from her.

That night, the dreams were just as bad, if not worse. The next day she'd made her way back to the river, bleary eyed and in a panic about how she was going to find the cursed item, but she needn't have worried. The glittering phylactery was lying on the shore.

There was only one thing left to do. She had to go back to the temple, put the phylactery on the altar and smash it good, once and for all.

* * *

Solona stood at the outskirts of the Dalish camp, tapping her fingers against her staff. She chewed her lip and glanced at the sky.

_We're fine. It's still morning._

Hopefully they could make it to the temple before nightfall. She definitely did not need another night of those dreams…

Just then, Leliana emerged from behind the closest aravel. She held a cloth sack in her hands. "You're ready to go, I see!"

"What did Elissa say?"

"She's fine with it, of course! We have two days to go to the temple and back."

"Really? What did you tell her?"

"What do you think I told her? The truth!" When Solona's eyes went wide, Leliana laughed. "That woman is as happy as I've ever seen her. Now's the perfect time to ask her for whatever you want. She's too blissful to disagree."

Solona let out the breath she'd been holding. "Oh, fuck, that's… that's great. I thought for sure she'd insist on keeping the vial to study it."

"I don't think studying is at the top of her priorities right now."

"Good point." Elissa and Alistair had barely left their tent. "What's in the sack?"

"Supplies for the werewolves. Elissa suggested we send some additional clothing and tools along for the poor dears."

Solona's lip curled. "So we have to lug this crap all over the forest?"

"Pfft, I'm the one that'll be 'lugging' it. And you'll be lugging me."

 _Do you think you weigh nothing?_ Solona bit her tongue and began concentrating on the spell that would transform her. Managing any kind of bird had so far proved just as impossible as destroying the vial, but she'd had time to study the Dalish beasts of burden. Mastering their form had taken her almost no time at all.

Closing her eyes, she gathered energy from the Fade and started casting the spell. When she finished and opened her eyes, the colors were… different. Leliana's hair, ordinarily a shock of red against all other colors, was less vibrant, less distinct somehow. Objects that she could ordinarily see in fine detail now seemed shrouded in a haze, but she could sense movement with a great deal more clarity.

But, the smells… the smells were almost overwhelming… _almost_. She could, when she concentrated, pick out the human scents versus those of the flora and fauna of the forest. Making their way to the temple would be a simple matter of following the scent trail they'd made on the way back to camp.

Solona bent her head and scraped at the ground with her hoof.

"Is that halla for _let's go_?" Leliana asked with a grin, before hoisting herself effortlessly onto Solona's back.

Her new legs wobbled only slightly as she adjusted to Leliana's weight. _I can do this._ With a huff of breath, she began trotting down the path that would lead her to correct the mistake she'd made back at the ruined temple.

They found the ex-werewolves easily enough-their distinctive smell led Solona right to their camp. The group of humans had taken up in a couple of caves not far from the ruined temple, and they'd been immensely grateful at the supplies they delivered, if a bit shocked when Solona turned from a halla back into a human again.

It was evening when they approached the temple. Solona uttered a few words of magic and the tip of her staff glowed, softly lighting their way as they retraced their steps through the ancient structure. They faced no danger in the cool stone halls—only the stench of decay and silence accompanied them.

When they got to the door of the chamber with the altar, Solona stopped and turned to Leliana. "You should wait out here."

"Why?"

"Just in case… I don't know what's going to happen when I destroy the vial. If it takes me out, I don't want you to go too."

"You can't possibly think—"

She held up a hand. "Look, it's probably perfectly safe, but allow me this one thing, alright? Please?"

The cool light of her staff illuminated Leliana's deep frown. She stared at Solona for a few heartbeats before letting out a sigh. "Fine. But if I hear anything I'm coming in, you understand?"

Solona hugged her quickly and gave her a peck on the cheek. "Of course."

She slipped into the room. It looked the same as they'd left it a few days ago—dusty and undisturbed. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out the vial, wrapped in cloth. Taking care not to touch the glass, she set the tiny bottle on the top of the altar and removed the cloth.

Even without contact, Solona could feel the presence's enormous sense of relief. With a deep breath, she wrapped both hands around the middle of her staff and raised it over her head before bringing the end of it onto the bottle swiftly, shattering it.

Fingers of white lightning danced over the altar, raising the hair on Solona's arms and making her neck tingle. An acrid smoke filled her nostrils and she coughed.

"Are you alright?"

Solona turned to see Leliana in the doorway, eyebrows drawn together. Clearing her throat, she croaked, "I'm fine. It's over."

Once her coughing fit abated, a wave of warm relief washed over her. _Finally._ Her exhaustion had left her, but she knew it would be back as soon as she and Leliana made camp. The thought of the peaceful sleep that awaited her made her feel like she could dance over the ancient stones as they made their way out of the temple.

In spite of the obvious safety that would come from sleeping inside the structure, neither she nor Leliana much wanted to, so they made camp just outside the entrance.

"I'm so fucking glad that's done," Solona said as she lowered herself to the ground next to Leliana. "I should have done that days ago."

Leliana smiled, and then her eyes narrowed and Solona realized too late that she'd made a mistake. "But why would you? You didn't know the thing wanted to die, did you?"

It wouldn't have been too difficult to brush off her concern, but she let a wince overtake her features. "Yeah, about that…I did kind of know."

"You knew, and you didn't tell me."

Leliana's flat tone made Solona's stomach twist. "I… I figured that… thing… had been stuck in there for an age… what was a few more days? I figured it was worth it."

She fully expected to find anger and disapproval in Leliana's crystal blue eyes, but to her surprise, Leliana stared at her, lips parted, for the span of a few breaths, before putting her hand to her mouth… and _giggling_.

 _What the fuck?_ "Uh… is there a reason that's funny?"

Leliana turned her head and her shoulders shook as silent laughter overcame her. When the spasm passed, she looked at Solona with a wry smile. "It's just… you don't get it do you?" When Solona shook her head, she mirrored the action, laughing. "Those dreams of yours… they didn't come from the phylactery. They were from you and your guilty conscience. That's why you couldn't sleep, I bet!"

"No, that's not…" _Possible,_ she almost said, but then stopped herself. _Is it?_ The two of them had talked at length about her _somniari_ powers, but Leliana was no mage. Still, it was a plausible enough theory. "I think I have a bit more control than that, but… I suppose… that might be it." She picked up a stick and started picking at the bark. "So, you're not mad? That I didn't tell you?"

Leliana didn't answer at first and her expression turned serious. "It makes me sad," she said at last. "That you still don't trust me."

"It's not that—"

"What did you think I would do?"

Solona shrugged. "I figured you'd insist on… you know. Mercy. Putting the thing out of its misery."

Leliana raised an eyebrow. "And forever lose whatever memories might be trapped inside it?" She held up her hand when Solona started to speak. "You didn't know you wouldn't be able to learn anything from it at the time, no?"

"So, what? You wouldn't have been bothered? I thought for sure you'd insist on doing the right thing…"

"The right thing isn't always completely clear, is it?"

Solona's mouth opened, but no words spilled out. She could only stare at Leliana for a few silent moments. At last, she sighed. "Not 'til after you've fucked it up, in my experience."

Leliana _tsked_ and scooted closer. "Regardless of what I'd have wanted… I would have listened to you. We could have talked about it and decided… together." She reached out and lifted her chin, forcing Solona to look at her. "I would have been on your side, no matter what."

A cricket chirped a half dozen times before Solona felt like she could breathe again. Her eyes stung suspiciously. She blinked. "I'm sorry."

Leliana smiled and ran her thumb over Solona's jaw. "We're in this together," she said, before her face folded into a frown. "Next time, I hope you remember that."

Solona put her hand over Leliana's and leaned forward. "I will. I promise." She wanted to press her lips to Leliana's, but just then she was overcome by an insistent yawn. Turning her head, she covered her mouth with her hand.

Leliana gave a throaty laugh that ordinarily would have drive sleep far from Solona's thoughts. "In any case, I doubt you'll dream of the altar tonight. Why don't you get some rest? I'll take first watch."

 _I don't want to sleep,_ she started to say, but another yawn robbed her of the ability to speak for a few seconds. "Alright," she said, when it passed. "Good night."

It took no time for Solona to fall asleep. At first, her Fade self wandered around aimlessly through some indistinct trees and shadows, until she found an area where the trees thinned and the ancient temple loomed above a foggy landscape.

It wasn't a ruin in her dream. Unbroken columns lined the path to the entrance—a large door gilded with gold and silver paint, not the rotten ancient wood of the real ruins.

_Well, this is sort of real… just an older version of reality._

The door swung open silently, and Solona made her way inside. Instead of dust and cobwebs covering a crumbling interior, flickering torchlight and clean, unbroken stone greeted her. Colorful and intricate tapestries covered the walls, and plush rugs in vibrant and rich hues of red and gold lined the floors muffled her steps.

She saw no one, which struck her as odd. Everything looked so new and perfect—where were the spirits of the elven people who should have been here?

It was a curious question, but not an alarming one. For all Solona knew, she was projecting her own imagination and building a pristine restoration unconsciously. _It would be nice to know how to do this on purpose._

Following a path similar to the one her party had taken their first time in the ruins, Solona made her way deeper into the temple. Doors that had been locked during her visit were now open, and she met no obstruction as she traveled down to the lower level. More torches lit the way, and without the enormous tree roots bursting through the walls, this level was almost unrecognizable.

She stood in front of the door to the little room where she'd found the phylactery, unsure if she'd been lead to the spot or if she'd unconsciously found her way back to the scene of her most recent crime. Taking a deep breath, she walked into the room.

It looked completely different. No bookshelves lined the walls and there was no altar to be found. Instead, the room looked like a cozy study—similar to the one she'd seen in Elissa's nightmare, way back at the Circle Tower. A fireplace housed a cheery fire, and the floor was covered with a plum colored carpet. Impossibly, a small window on one side let bright sunlight stream into the room. _What is this?_

A pair of chairs covered in plush cushions were arranged around a large mahogany desk… behind the desk sat an all too familiar figure.

"Oh fuck this," Solona swore, turning on her heel, only to see the door had shut soundlessly behind her.

"Please Solona," Aurelian said, his voice coming closer. "I don't want to hurt you. I've only come here to warn you—"

She whirled around, feeling like a caged animal. Placing her hand over the doorknob, she sneered at him. "What? To not defy you? Or you'll kill everyone I care about?"

Aurelian had come around the desk, but to Solona's surprise he made no move to cover the distance between them.

"No, nothing like that at all, I assure you. I've come here because I have important information for you. Information that may not only save your life, but your very _soul_."

Solona snorted with grim laughter. "Holy shit, did you catch religion on me?"

He shook his head. "I'm _serious,_ Solona. I've discovered a well-kept secret about the Wardens… I've discovered just how they are capable of defeating the Blight."

She kept her hand on the doorknob, but still she didn't twist it. Elissa had been obsessed with that question until Avernus had assured them that the monster would die like any other dragon. "Ok, so what's your deep dark secret you've learned that not even my genius friend can figure out?"

Aurelian smiled. "Please, move away from the door and sit down. We can talk like civilized people." When Solona didn't budge, he held up his hands and moved back to the other side of the desk. "I promise you have nothing to fear from me, my dear. I'm only trying to help." He took a seat and gestured again at the chairs. "Please."

Solona hesitated, her hand still on the doorknob… a part of her wanted to test the door to see if he'd locked her in, but a larger part dreaded knowing the truth—it wasn't as if she'd be able to do anything about it if he had. "I think I'll stay right here."

Aurelian's smile faltered, and then he sighed. "Fair enough." He clasped his hands and laid them on the desk. "I suppose I can understand your distrust. I'm afraid I behaved quite poorly during our last—"

"I'm not interested in your apologies. Just tell me whatever it is you think is so important and then let me go."

Aurelian winced and looked at his hands. For a moment, Solona could almost convince herself that he really cared. After a few breaths, he looked up. "Fine." He studied her for a few moments. "What do you know the archdemon?"

Frustration made her grind her teeth together. "Big blighted son of a bitch of a dragon. Supposedly it's one of the old gods of Tevinter the Maker imprisoned deep underground. Whenever the darkspawn find one, we get a Blight. Kill the archdemon; end the Blight." She shrugged. "That's about it."

"And yet… why does it take the Grey Wardens to end the Blight?"

Solona frowned. "Because we're immune to the taint, hello? Everyone knows that."

Aurelian shook his head. "That's only part of it!" His eyes shone as he leaned forward. "The Archdemon is practically immortal… when struck down, its soul travels to the nearest blighted creature and the old god transforms itself anew."

"Well that's… creepy enough to sound true, actually." Her frown deepened. "You said the nearest blighted creature—"

"That's right." Aurelian sounded oddly proud. "The reason the Grey Wardens are needed… if a Warden is the nearest Blighted creature, the archdemon's soul will seek to take over his or her body."

Something in her chest tightened. "So what… what happens then?"

Aurelian's mahogany hair shone in the torchlight as he shook his head. "A darkspawn is a soulless husk of a creature… almost a… a perfect vessel to receive the archdemon's soul. But a warden… a warden already _has_ a soul."

Solona let go of the doorknob and took a step forward without thinking. "You said you wanted to save my soul…"

Aurelian nodded. "That's right, Solona. A human… or an elf, a dwarf—any person with a soul—their body becomes a battleground. Their souls… destroy each other, and the warden dies in the process."

 _You're lying._ She wanted to be able to spit the words at him, but she couldn't. It all sounded just awful enough to be true. There was a sick kind of sense to it all.

" _In death, sacrifice,_ " she whispered.

"Indeed. So, now you see how I _had_ to tell you. I couldn't let you walk into this danger without knowing… especially now that you've gone and joined the wardens, honestly, Solona, you do like to make things difficult." He pursed his lips and then shook his head. "The important thing is now, you know. You have the means to create new wardens, so this needn't fall on you or your friends, at least."

Her eyes narrowed almost unconsciously. _It's not me he's worried about._ Solona took a backward step, shaking her head. "You're full of shit, you know that? You aren't worried about me. You're worried that your precious _Alistair_ is going to die fighting the archdemon, and you couldn't have that, could you?"

Aurelian's frown seemed truly sad as he tilted his head to the side and then shook it. He looked at his hands and spoke quietly. "I am not surprised to hear you say that, and I… I suppose I deserve it." He met her gaze again. "But, Solona, you are worth more to me than a thousand Alistairs."

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, right."

"I mean it, Solona," Aurelian said, leaning forward. "There's a reason I came to you instead of Alistair, you know. I could have found him and warned him myself at any time, but I stayed away. Out of respect for you."

Solona reached out to grasp the doorknob. Before turning it, she looked back at Aurelian with an angry scowl. "You're lying. I've been protecting him."

"You? Protect him? And just how have you been doing that, exactly?"

His teasing tone filled her with sudden doubt. She looked at the door and turned the doorknob. To her surprise, it worked.

"You can't protect anyone, Solona. You don't know enough about your powers yet. Remember that."

His tone had been kindly… but Solona heard the implicit threat. With an angry huff of breath she walked through the door and out of the Fade, unsure whether to believe Aurelian or not.


	68. Elissa's Journal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An excerpt from the journal of Elissa Cousland.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ _Author's note: hello, it's me! It's been a very long time since I last updated. I have a bit of an update today, though it's shorter than a typical chapter and includes quite a bit of summary. Instead of doing a big 'previously on Poison and Wine' I'm doing this. There's a bit of "new" stuff at the end, to make this not entirely redundant._
> 
> _Also wanted to say: hi, I'm not dead, nor is the story. I'll be working on it furiously in the days ahead, and I hope to get back to updating (though it may continue to be sporadic). Thanks again for your patience._ ]

_In large writing, covering the top of the first page of a leather-bound journal:_

Diary of Elissa M. Cousland,

Warden of the Grey,

Rightful Teyrna of Highever,

daughter of Teyrn Bryce Cousland (8:80 Blessed - 9:30 Dragon)

and Teyrna Eleanor Cousland (8:85 Blessed - 9:30 Dragon).

_The first entry begins on the next page, in smaller script from the same hand._

I am the last remaining survivor to the great Fereldan House of Cousland. My parents perished, along with the Lady Oriana Cousland (9:03-9:30 Dragon) and her son and heir, Oren Cousland (9:25-9:30 Dragon), when Bann Howe (8:79 Blessed, and will die in 9:30 should the Maker guide my hand to retribution) diabolically murdered and betrayed his old friend, attacking Cousland Castle in the night, after our soldiers had departed. Fergus Cousland (9:03 - 9:30 Dragon) died in battle in the Korcari Wilds around the time of the Battle of Ostagar, presumably.

_The entry ends here. There are several pages torn from the journal, and then the writing begins again in the same script, with different ink._

I had thought to record our travels and travails in an objective and complete fashion, omitting opinion where it was not warranted, and divulging only the important events and decisions. I have recorded our mission and goals, our objectives to meet at each of the locations we visited, and what was accomplished and was not.

However, it is of my fellow warden's ([Alistair Theirin is crossed out, replaced by Warden Alistair, which is then again crossed out and replaced by simply 'Alistair (9:10 Dragon).']) opinion that my writing does not engage the reader's interest. Whereas I held my objective and factual prose to be a benefit, Alistair informed me it was anything but, and that my factual rendition would do little good if "no one can stand to finish it."

I have given the matter some thought, as I feel a great reluctance to taint my recollection with subjective analysis and individual perspective. However, the point nevertheless remains. If my personal style is too dry and academic, it would behoove me to adapt one more accommodating of my reader's limited attention span.

As such, I shall swallow my trepidation, and attempt to record here not just the details of events, but my personal opinions and situational analyses, in the hopes that including this somewhat irrelevant information will increase the likelihood of my work retaining its worth.

I have little wish to recollect the particulars of my early days as a warden. Suffice it to say that I came to the organization through great tragedy, but not, as I first suspected, through any sentiment of charity. Duncan recruited me from my dying father, knowing that I had no martial skills or experience. I was much too overcome with grief and fear to challenge this negotiation, and by the time I regained my senses, I had accepted the additional weight of another duty. Thus I began my career with twin missions: avenge my family, fight the Blight.

I had little sense of what it all meant at the time, of course. Overcome with grief as I was, it was a simple thing for Duncan to guide my mute form to Ostagar.

Others have no doubt told the tale of that fateful battle, and I'll not weigh down this narrative with tactical details that have surely been thoroughly examined and discussed by everyone with the free will to form an opinion by now. I'll say just this: Alistair and I survived.

We were, improbably though it seems, rescued by a figure out of legend–at least according to the subject in question. Flemeth, she claimed to be, and while this writer can not ascertain what truth may lie in this assertion, I nevertheless must conclude that the power dwelling inside this individual is no small thing. Indeed, we are not quite sure how the seemingly old woman collected us and transported us to her hut in the Korcari Wilds, but as I have no other explanation for how we wound up waking therein, I can offer no alternative explanation.

It proved fortuitous in any case, as the witch woman knew of the Grey Warden treaties we held, and in fact considered our quest so grave and important as to offer up her only daughter as our companion, to help guide us out of the wilds and lend us aid in battle. And so, Morrigan joined our party.

It was also in the Korcari Wilds that I forged the beginning of an alliance with my fellow Warden. We vowed to each other to not rest until we'd fulfilled the treaties and seen to our personal vendettas (him, to the traitor Loghain, whose betrayal cost us the victory at Ostagar and our young king's life, and for me, of course, the despicable Howe).

From there, we set out to call upon the aid of Arl Eamon, who had served as Alistair's guardian in his youth. We discovered a village in turmoil when we arrived. The Arl, we would come to discover, had been poisoned by agents of Loghain, while the townsfolk were plagued by a horde of undead monstrosities. With our help, as well as the cooperation of the Templars and mages of Kinloch Hold, we managed to quell the undead uprising, kill the demon and save the Arl's young son.

Our success required a brief sojourn to the Circle Tower, where Alistair and I discovered yet another calamity was taking place. A group of blood mages had staged an insurrection, and the resulting fighting had torn open the veil, infesting the tower with all manner of demons and undead. Unwilling to walk away from the Tower without meeting our objectives, I insisted that Alistair and I attempt what the Templars were afraid to: we entered the Tower, and discovered a few survivors that helped us re-establish order by finding and defeating the demons, blood mages, and possessed Templars. When we discovered the First Enchanter alive and rescued him, we were finally able to deliver our treaty and gain their alliance for our upcoming war.

By the time we arrived in Denerim a few weeks later, we had acquired a few more travelers to our party, including an Antivan Crow named Zevran Arainai (birth, unknown, and was offended when I asked), a sister of the Chantry, Leliana (8:98 Blessed), a Qun warrior (birth, unknown) and two mages from the Circle Tower, Solona Amell (9:10 Dragon) and Wynne (8:? Blessed). Having failed at reproducing an antidote, it occurred to me that our best strategy to procure one would be to steal the original back from Loghain.

It took several weeks to put the pieces in place, and during this time the Wardens (including now, Solona) set off to discover an ancient keep in the hopes of reclaiming it for our use. We discovered more than just history within its crumbling walls–there was another living Warden residing there still. The old mage had extended his lifespan through who knows what magical methodology. He provided us few solid answers… though the recipe for the Joining proved to be a useful one soon enough.

Whilst in Denerim, we aided a young elf by the name of Darrian Tabris (9:10-, presumed 9:30 Dragon) by uncovering and dismantling through force the illegal Tevinter slave operation taking place in the city's alienage. Our work captured the attention of the city guard, who kept a few members of the party gainfully employed during our stay in the city.

Our planning culminated into a covert operation at the Howe estate. Though it pained me greatly, I held back my vengeance during the mission. Securing the antidote for Arl Eamon was my utmost priority–I did not have the luxury of being selfish. But, perhaps irrationally, I am optimistic that my vengeance will not remain unfulfilled for long. My reckoning with my vile enemy is inevitable… so long as I am patient, I'm confident I shall be rewarded.

Through great planning and no small sacrifice, we managed to procure a cure for the poison that afflicted the Arl, and sent a vial of the antidote back to Redcliffe, born by the witch woman Morrigan, who possesses the ability to shapeshift into various animals, including a raven.

We escaped Denerim, barely, and unfortunately… the Tabris elf did not make it. I'll not spend ink relitigating my decisions here. As I said, no small sacrifice…

In any case, once Morrigan departed toward Redcliffe, the rest of the party (save the dwarves and my devoted mabari, Prince, who I sent on ahead) ventured into the Brecilian forest, seeking the Dalish. We bore a treaty to enlist their aid during a Blight, and it was our intention to see this treaty fulfilled. Unfortunately, in something of a pattern, the Dalish were besieged by their own troubles when we finally met them. A band of hostile werewolves had attacked the clan, cursing several of their tribe with an ancient magical affliction. Though the clan's elder… the Keeper, as the Dalish refer to him… appeared reluctant to request our help, we committed to the cause of curing them, and thus embarked on a wild and unpredictable adventure in the forest.

We entered the woods seeking the heart of a monstrous wolf named Witherfang, as the clan's Keeper (Name? birth?) intimated that it's acquisition was key to reversing the curse. As it turned out, the situation was a bit more complicated than presented to us, and by the time we saw it's resolution, both my partner and I succumbed to the lycanthropic curse.

I don't think I can properly describe the surreal and painful experience of transforming into a werewolf… Alistair has a flair for the dramatic and would likely provide a more salacious account of that ordeal. Nevertheless, I will say this: it wasn't just a transformation of bodies that took place in the forest. Our relationship transformed as well.

I find myself struggling to form the words to describe this series of events, for reasons that are quite personal in nature. However, I suspect this is just the information Alistair meant for me to include (no doubt so he can gain the pleasure of reading my complimentary comments about him once I've finished). But I think this entry has taken long enough, so Alistair, my dear, when you read this, I'll be happy to demonstrate explicitly my feelings about our relationship, in lieu of a written explanation here. I hope that will suffice…

_The next entry begins a few spaces down the page._

Alistair read my last journal entry, and while I thought I was convincing enough in person, I fear that my reticence to discuss our affair might've been misinterpreted, since afterward Alistair informed me that if it made me 'uncomfortable' he wouldn't read my journal.

Which was completely flummoxing of course! Because the entire reason I've rewritten it is in order to facilitate the reading of it. Why would I want to hide it from him? I think he was a tad cagey in his response, but I suspect I know the true reason.

So to put any worries to rest, I just wanted to write that I love Alistair. There… it feels immensely silly and hopelessly inadequate now that I've written the words, but I suspect it matters that I write them so… I am utterly in love with Alistair, and I have no regrets about our relationship.

_The next entry begins on the next page._

It appears that my initial interpretation of Alistair's offer for privacy was inaccurate. He wasn't trying to prompt me into writing about him after all. For some reason, he is convinced that this writing activity is somehow 'good for me.' Which… frankly I don't understand. But I didn't pick up the book to start the argument again, I suppose.

I… I'm not sure why I picked up this journal to be honest. I am not saying that I do not see the merit in Alistair's suggestion. I think, no, I _know_ my silence on certain matters worries him. Of course, he doesn't know…

It's too much of a risk to write too openly, and I doubt I'll ever be able to explain that to him.

Still…

_Next entry_

I was thinking about a great many things this morning when we woke and it must've shown on my face, for Alistair immediately asked me about it. I tried to tell him it was nothing, but he did not relent. "Would you tell me if something was wrong?"

The question surprised me and I at first bristled at the accusation, but Alistair simply looked at me in that way… and I realized that he was of course, correct.

"Well, I suppose that I should," I allowed, feeling my face heat. I had grown accustomed to the distance my companions normally afford me, but this served as a reminder of how much things had changed in a few short days.

I told him that I'd been contemplating the future.

His face grew sober and I realized my mistake. I hurried to explain that I only meant that I would miss our idyllic time in the Dalish camp, because the luxury of staying in our tent all day would soon be leaving us.

Alistair was relieved that I hadn't been musing on more dire topics, I could tell. It reminded me of how little I wanted to face Arl Eamon, myself, and inspired me to share my ideas for our next steps.

To my great relief, Alistair agreed that it might be prudent to head to Orzammar next, rather than return immediately to Redcliffe. The trip will likely take us weeks, and the snows come early in the Frostback mountains. I argued that it'd be simple enough to send a message back to Eamon with our plans. I decided to forgo discussing Morrigan's request with him for the moment. It was our last day with the Dalish. Marring it with an argument was the furthest thing from my mind. I'm glad I held off, because Alistair grew oddly and suddenly nervous, and started talking in that rapid-fire way he has.

After a few seconds of his babbling I gathered the gist–he'd gotten me a gift, but was feeling insecure about presenting it. I must admit, though I was quite touched by the gesture, I was also filled with a bit of dread at the prospect. I… am particular in my tastes, and I feared whatever gift made Alistair so nervous was bound to disappoint and I'd be unable to hide it from him.

However, my fears turned out to be entirely unsupported.

Alistair fumbled in his backpack, babbling all the while, and finally presented me something wrapped in cloth. I'm sure my curiosity was evident in my expression, as he finally quieted, and he watched my face closely.

I indulged myself, leaving the object where Alistair held it, and looking up at him with what I hoped was a coy expression. "Am I allowed to venture a guess?"

Alistair's grin simply widened.

My first guess when I saw the item was that it was some kind of statuette, similar to the set I'd gifted him with over the last few months. But when I at last took the item from him and held it in my hand, it became obvious that my supposition was incorrect. It felt solid and I could tell that its surface was smooth and cylindrical, with no obvious markings chiseled onto it.

It wasn't a statuette, clearly. I was overwhelmed with curiosity, and too frustrated by my failure to identify it quickly to keep up the game. I unwrapped it. Once I revealed it's true shape and semblance, it's nature became obvious.

"This is a control rod for a Dwarven construct known as a golem!" I shouted, because of course that's what it was!

My disappointment at not being able to recognize it disappeared: the likelihood that Alistair would have acquired such an item struck me as abysmally low. I'd have never figured it out without seeing the Dwarven runes etched so delicately on its surface.

Alistair beamed at me. "I knew you'd figure it out. I just knew it."

His pride and happiness filled me with joy. I found myself unable to speak for a few seconds, so overcome by the emotion I felt. "This is the best gift anyone has ever given me," I confessed. (It's true if one doesn't count Prince, which I think is fair, considering he was meant as a gift to Fergus.)

I was staring at the item in my hand, imaging the hours I could look forward to deciphering the writing, reproducing it and describing the cylinder in this very journal, when Alistair spoke up again. 

"And that's not all."

And Maker! I still get goosebumps thinking about it. The truth is that Alistair knows the alleged location of the golem! It's on the way to Orzammar, apparently, and so we'll be able to easily visit the village to see if the rumor is true. If it is… Andraste! Forgive my language, but what a difference a golem could make in our fight against Darkspawn…

Well, I could go on for quite awhile in this vein if I'm not careful, but I suppose I should put down my quill and rest. Solona should return in the morning and then we'll take our leave of the Dalish at last. I should get to sleep, and resist the urge to catalogue all these details now. Alistair awaits me, besides…

_In a larger, more florid script than the previous writing._

No regrets.


	69. Absence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair awaits Elissa's return in Redcliffe.

_Alistair,_

_Do not be alarmed. I must leave you temporarily. Solona and I must make for the Korcari Wilds, as we have urgent business with Morrigan’s mother._

_You should not follow us. You should continue to Redcliffe and await us to meet you there. Solona and I will be swift—too swift for you to catch us. The only one who possibly could is Morrigan, and she cannot and will not accompany us. Please, trust me in this._

_PS. Do not concern yourself with our last quarrel. You were in the right and I, the wrong. Forgive me._

_Yours always,_

_Elissa_

* * *

 

Castles were dark places. The Great Hall of Redcliffe castle was the most brightly lit room in the entire fortress, but during the day its windows did little to illuminate the deepest stone corners. The flickering torchlight left pools of darkness between them, and what sunlight reached them was wan and not warm. Alistair shifted in his seat, trying not to shiver. Appearances mattered, he’d come to accept.

Arl Eamon was holding court—accepting visitations from the villagers of Redcliffe, who had come to voice their complaints to the man in charge. And _Maker,_ did they have a lot of complaints.

“That… that stone monstrosity has devastated my flock of chickens!” An old woman shook her fist as she spoke. “Hen and cock alike! No chickens means no eggs. It’s how I earn my living!”

“This golem is no mindless monstrosity. I cannot fathom a reason why it would have attacked your chickens—”

Alistair coughed. “Um, actually…that probably did er... or could have, uh… happened.”

Eamon raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“I’ll talk to her.”

The eyebrow twitched higher. “Her?”

“It’s a long story…”

“Very well. We shall take care of this, Goodwife Gertruda, rest assured. We thank you for bringing the matter to our attention.”

A man stepped forward. He wore all black and held his hands clasped behind his back. Alistair recognized him as one of Eamon’s own men. “My lord, as you know, our grain stores were already running low after the troubles this past summer, and our fishermen haven’t been able to make up the difference. Now, we have extra mouths to feed, what with all the new… soldiers. Our stores are alarmingly low.”

The Dalish were self-sufficient, Alistair was quite sure, but the Dwarven troops were mostly Warrior Caste, not hunters, and had probably eaten most of their food on the journey here. For once, he didn’t wish Elissa were there. He could imagine her reaction. _“They should be thankful for that army. Aren’t their lives worth a few months of belt tightening?”_

Teagan, who was sitting to Eamon’s right, leaned forward. “Rainesfaire’s stores can perhaps make up the difference,” he said. “But, it’ll take some time to get a message to them and ship the grain back here.”

“We should have left for Denerim weeks ago,” Eamon muttered. “Once we get the Landsmeet over with, we’ll be able to requisition supplies of the crown—”

“I’ve got an idea.”

Eamon and Teagan shared a look, before turning to Alistair with expectant expressions.

“I can talk to the Dalish. They hunt just enough to feed themselves, but I could ask them to hunt for more. It’s a Blight after all. Better those animals feed our troops than become tainted. We can use that to help feed the dwarven troops until we can get more grain from Rainesfaire.”

Teagan and Eamon shared another look. “You think the clans will agree?” Teagan asked.

Lanaya numbered among the Dalish troops that had set up camp around the village. “I’ll negotiate something.”

“Very well.” Eamon turned back to the farmer. “You’ll have extra meat to make up for the grain, until we can send for more.”

The owner of the only tavern in Redcliffe, Lloyd, stepped forward next, his hat in his hands. His bald head shone while he complained about his business. “The dwarves take up half the tables, but they don’t buy anything! And the other half’s full of mages and Templars, and between all of them all my regulars are staying home.”

“What would you have us do?” Eamon asked. “We will not command the townsfolk to visit your tavern.”

“Beg your pardon, milord, but you misunderstand. I mean, that is… what I’m trying to do is… Well, I’d like to invite the Champion and his… uh… friends… to the tavern tonight.” His mouth closed for a moment, and Alistair had the impression he was gritting his teeth. “On the house,” he finally managed.

Eamon looked at Alistair. His expression was placid, but he thought he detected a struggle not to smile. In any case, it was hardly an imposition, having a few free drinks outside the castle. It was all he could do not to exude eagerness. He cleared his throat. “I’d be happy to. And I’ll talk to the others.”

The complaints that followed were mostly mundane, but Alistair’s interest was piqued again when the Revered Mother and a group of Chantry sisters stepped forward.

_What is the correct term for a group of sisters? A gaggle? A flock? Elissa would know._

He braced himself for another round of arguing with the Chantry over the mages stationed here. The Circle Tower had sent them and what Templars they could spare to Redcliffe, where all the armies bound by the ancient Warden treaties had gathered. After the dwarves and elves had shown up, there had been grumbling and complaining from the villagers, but most seemed to understand that a certain amount of sacrifice was required during wartime, but apparently mages on this side of the Lake was a step too far. Aside from visiting the tavern, the mages mostly kept to themselves and stayed in Redcliffe’s castle, but their mere presence had been enough to set the town astir.

Eamon cleared his throat. “Revered Mother, it is good to see you again. I trust this isn’t another petition about mages? We have explained their presence. They are necessary. The Knight Commander has assured me of their character and discipline. We are in no danger from them.”

The Revered Mother’s graying left eyebrow rose ever so slightly. “An assertion I’m astonished to hear you make, given the Tower’s recent troubles. Nevertheless, apprehension over their presence is not the reason for my attendance. Besides, I’ve sent a runner to the Capitol requesting more Templars, so you needn’t trouble yourself with Chantry matters any further.”

 _Just what we need…_ Alistair made a mental note to speak to Leliana or Zevran about intercepting the message when they were finished here.

“Then what may we help you with today?” Eamon asked.

“It’s not your help I’m requesting. It’s his.”

Alistair’s eyebrows rose. “Mine?”

“The Chantry needs help locating one of its most faithful and celebrated disciples: the scholar, Brother Ferdinand Geniviti. His assistant Weylon’s body was found in his home in Denerim. His murderer had assumed Weylon’s identity, becoming his imposter until quite recently when a Templar discovered the deception. We believe this treachery to be the work of a bloodthirsty cult, and fear they’ve kidnapped the brother. Among the murderer’s possessions we discovered information leading to a village in the mountains: Haven. If Geniviti is still alive, we’re certain that’s where they took him. I’m here to implore you and your allies to investigate this matter at once! Brother Geniviti’s contributions to the Chantry are invaluable. He is a devoted servant to the _Maker,_ and we must do all that we can to retrieve him.”

Alistair was not surprised that Eamon frowned severely at this. His uncle’s opinion was that they should leave for Denerim at once. It was only at Alistair’s insistence that they waited for Elissa and Solona to return. He wouldn’t approve of this kind of detour.

“Revered Mother,” Alistair began, adopting his most diplomatic tone. “As urgent as this matter may be, it cannot be more urgent than the Blight. My duty as a Warden commands me to put our mission above all else. The Blight must come before issues of country and Chantry alike.”

The Revered Mother’s eyes narrowed. “The Blight is the Maker’s punishment for our sins. It is not our duty to fight it. The Maker needs our penitence, not our armaments.”

“Surely you can spare some Templars for this task,” Eamon interjected.

“The Templars have a duty to protect the Circle Mages now that they have left the safety of Kinloch Hold. After the blood mage uprising their numbers are thin. We cannot spare any for this task.”

“We cannot put the fate of Ferelden at risk to rescue one Chantry scholar,” Eamon said.

The Revered Mother glared at Eamon, and then looked pointedly at Alistair.

Alistair felt a blush crawling up his cheek as everyone turned to scrutinize him. He agreed with Eamon, of course, but something in the Revered Mother’s gaze made him hesitant to say so. Or perhaps it was the twinge of guilt he felt about the whole ordeal. He and Solona had visited Geniviti’s house in Denerim, and given how distracted he’d been, he wondered if he and Solona had been fooled by the impostor. If they had figured it out, perhaps Geniviti wouldn’t have gone missing.

Still, he was thankful for the ready excuse that sprung to mind. _When in doubt—delay_. “It’s not just up to me. The Commander of the Grey must be consulted, and she’s yet to return. But I’ll bring this to her attention as soon as she does.”

Eamon’s lips pursed, while the Revered Mother’s stretched into a thin line. They both seemed perturbed, but accepted his terms. _Neither of them is completely happy. That’s politics for you._

* * *

 

It took all afternoon, with Alistair traveling from the castle to the village outskirts and back a few times, before he’d worked out an equitable agreement for the Dalish hunters to provide the village with extra food. His face hurt from all the smiling and talking he’d done to accomplish the deal.

After, he caught Zevran in one of the hallways, bothering one of the castle’s chambermaids. When he’d shooed the young woman away, Alistair explained that the Revered Mother had sent a message to Denerim, requesting more Templars. He hadn’t needed to explain his reservations about that.

“I’ll take care of it.” At Alistair’s stern expression, Zevran smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes. “Don’t worry. It will be a simple matter to replace the message. No casualties, I promise.”

He sent a servant with instructions to inform the others of Lloyd’s invitation, and washed up, before changing his clothes. The breeches, shirt and vest he donned were finer than any apparel he’d ever owned, but he hoped the brown vest and pants paired with a deep green shirt looked less ostentatious than the burgundy and gold he’d worn during Eamon’s audience with the village.

Alistair inhaled deeply as he stood atop the stone steps leading into the courtyard. The air was tinged with the scent of fish and freshwater. The sun sank into the horizon, painting the sky in vivid tinges of orange and purple.

This had never been his favorite time of day when he was with the Wardens. After the sun set, Alistair had often found himself restless and bored. Back then, the lengthening shadows just meant the day was nearly over, but now it meant more time alone with Elissa.

At least it used to. Since he’d arrived in Redcliffe, his nights had been spent pouring over weighty tome after tome about government and history, provided by Eamon and Teagan. It was probably for the better that he had his evenings free to study, what with the expectations he’d found heaped on his head since he’d returned.

Since before he had returned, if he were being honest…

_Elissa did not smile. “You’re ready, Alistair. You have proved that beyond a shadow of doubt. You’ll be a good… a great ruler.”_

_“But I don’t want to lose you.”_

_Silence. And then, “How do you think you will lose me?”_

He scowled at the stone steps at his feet, unwilling to relieve the memory again. It served no purpose. He’d replayed their quarrel over in his mind. It didn’t help him understand why she had taken off any better.

“I was standing right here when I first met Solona.”

Alistair turned to see Leliana, dressed in a fine but simple light blue frock with a navy cloak to guard against the chill. “I’ll never get over how quietly you move.”

She smiled up at him before taking a step to join him where he looked out over the courtyard. “My apologies. Elissa moves just as quietly, but I suppose she can’t sneak up on you.”

“A fact that bothers her to no end, trust me.”

She laughed, and they spent a few moments in companionable silence. “I keep trying not to listen for the hoof beats, or for their voices…”

“Me too.”

“They’re not too late yet, but...”

“Right.” Suddenly, he didn’t want to talk about it. Smoothing his expression, he gestured at the castle. “So, is it just you and I tonight? No Wynne? No Oghren?”

If Leliana was taken aback by the change in mood, she didn’t show it. “Wynne is treating a sick mage, and Oghren… has already passed out.”

“That’s early. Even for him.”

“I think he does better on the road. Less idle time to think.”

“Right.” _Poor guy._ To find Branka, only to… Alistair couldn’t imagine. He offered his arm to Leliana. “Shall we?”

The tavern was bright and warm compared to the dark chill they left behind as they slipped through the front door. It was also packed with people, who fell silent at the sight of them. He offered the room a broad smile, and then placed a hand on Leliana’s back as he guided her to the bar.

Bella appeared when they reached it. “Welcome, strangers,” she said, and gestured to a table nearby. A small wooden sign that said “reserved” sat atop it. They sat and she returned with a pair of ale-filled mugs, grinning as she set them down. “On the house, like Lloyd said.”

By the time Alistair finished his ale, several villagers had stopped by to thank him personally for his help during “the troubles”—the euphemism the town had collectively chosen to use for the time last summer when he and Elissa and the rest had saved the town (and the Arl’s son) from a demon and its undead army. The distraction, while a bit overwhelming, was welcome, as was the ale that never seemed to disappear for long in his mug. By the time someone pressed a lute into Leliana’s hands and begged for a song, Alistair’s head was buzzing.

Leliana stood and began playing an upbeat tune, which set the villagers to clapping. When she started a second, crowd-pleasing number, a maiden with bright red hair and a face full of freckles shyly asked Alistair to dance. He obliged and the rest of the tavern rose to its feet with them, dancing and singing in time to the music. It was easy to follow the steps to the country jigs the villagers preferred. Much simpler than the ballroom dancing Leliana insisted Alistair would have to learn.

The villagers seemed to adore him, and he never lacked for attention (especially of the female persuasion). It was easy, for a time, to forget the expectations from Teagan and Eamon. The Blight and Fereldan’s civil war were forgotten as he got caught up in the spirited singing and dancing.

But it didn’t last. After Leliana had played a few sets of raucous numbers, her expression turned melancholy and she pleaded with the crowd for quiet. When they’d more or less obliged, she started plucking a tune with a softer, more melancholy melody. That helped settle the audience into a respectful silence.

She began to sing.

_In Denerim's fair city  
_ _Where the girls are so pretty  
_ _I first set my eyes on sweet Molly Malone  
_ _As she wheeled her wheelbarrow  
_ _Through the streets broad and narrow  
_ _Crying "cockles and mussels, alive, alive, oh"_

It was a well-known and much loved folk song, and the villagers sang along,

_Alive, alive, oh  
_ _Alive, alive, oh  
_ _Crying "cockles and mussels, alive, alive, oh"_

_She was a fishmonger  
_ _And sure, t'was no wonder  
_ _For so were her mother and father before  
_ _And they wheeled their barrow  
_ _Through the streets broad and narrow  
_ _Crying "cockles and mussels, alive, alive, oh"_

The song was about a fishwife in Denerim and yet… the chorus sank its hooks into Alistair’s chest.

_Alive, alive, oh|  
_ _Alive, alive, oh  
_ _Crying "cockles and mussels, alive, alive, oh"_

_She died of a fever  
_ _And sure, so one could save her  
_ _And that was the end of sweet Molly Malone  
_ _Now her ghost wheels her barrow  
_ _Through the streets broad and narrow  
_ _Crying "cockles and mussels, alive, alive, oh"_

_Alive, alive, oh  
_ _Alive, alive, oh  
_ _Crying "cockles and mussels, alive, alive, oh"_

It was easier to focus on his hurt—the pang of rejection he’d felt since he’d awoken and found Elissa gone. But sitting in the tavern, hearing Leliana and the villagers sing, _alive, alive…_ His fear that something dreadful had happened was brought sharply into focus.

_Alive, alive, oh  
_ _Alive, alive, oh  
_ _Crying "cockles and mussels, alive, alive, oh"_

“Are you alright?” Leliana sat in the chair beside him.

He’d been so caught up in his thoughts he hadn’t noticed the song had ended. “I’m fine. Ready to go?” he asked, getting to his feet.

Leliana’s eyebrows rose, but she didn’t object, and followed him outside. They walked toward the castle in silence, Alistair’s head full of questions he’d been too afraid to confront. Until now.

Inside the castle gates, he turned to her. “Did Solona’s letter give any more clues as to what they’re up to?”

“Letter?”

“Didn’t Solona leave a note behind for you?”

“Oh. No… not exactly.”

“What? She didn’t even leave a note? That’s—” At last he caught Leliana’s expression. “Didn’t you tell me that she left you a note?”

“I… did not. You assumed as much, and I let you go on believing it. I’m sorry. It seemed easiest. Solona… woke me before they left.”

So they’d had time for Solona to say goodbye to Leliana in person, but Elissa had to rush off leaving a note behind? He should have asked sooner. _All this time…_ Alistair pinched his nose. “No, it’s fine. Really. What did she say? She had to have told you more than Elissa told me.”

“What did Elissa tell you?”

“That she had business with Flemeth. Quit stalling.”

“I… I can’t actually add much to that. Solona told me to trust her and I did.”

 _Fine._ “What do you think they’re doing?”

A few seconds passed in silence. Then, Leliana sighed. “You might’ve guessed it, Alistair. I believe they intend to kill her.”

“That’s… great. Just great.”

Leliana placed a hand on his arm. “They’ll be alright. You must trust in their abilities.”

“Why only the two of them? Why not bring me with them?”

“I… I do not know. Truly.”

He let out a noisy sigh and turned back to face the road. The moon was a circle of white reflected in the waves of the lake below. The path behind them lay empty and quiet. “We had a fight. Before she left.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“What was it about?”

“The future. And… other things.”

_Elissa’s face contorted into a perplexed scowl. “You mean you knew? This whole time you knew I couldn’t… and you didn’t tell me?”_

_“I’m… I’m sorry. Really, Elissa, I’m sorry. I… was being stupid, and hoping it wouldn’t matter…”_

Leliana moved closer, and put a hand on his arm. “I’m sure you’ll get a chance to make up when she returns.”

_If she returns._

“It’s just… I’ve just got a really bad feeling about all this.” That was a bit of an understatement. What he really felt was a pervading sense of doom. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m overreacting. Maybe I’m just being paranoid. Do you think I’m being paranoid?”

Before Leliana could answer, a deep, gravelly voice boomed out. “Just because it is not paranoid doesn't mean someone isn’t out to get it.”

A large stone golem emerged from the courtyard’s shadows. It was several heads taller than Alistair, and seemed to be built out of a combination of rectangular rocks. The amber glow of the crystals protruding from the construct’s shoulder’s illuminated a surprisingly expressive face.

“Oh, hello Shale.”

The golem that was supposed to be a gift had turned out to have a will of its own. No mindless automaton, Shale was immune to the effects of the control rod, much to Elissa’s chagrin. The two had butted heads ever since they’d first met, to the point where sometimes Alistair questioned the wisdom of ever even visiting Honnleath, but it was probably for the best. He doubted they’d have survived the Deep Roads without Shale. _And who knows what would have happened with Branka had Shale not been there…_

The thought of the golem overhearing them made him irritable. He narrowed his eyes, remembering the villager’s complaints. “Just what were you doing out here anyway? Heading toward the chicken coops?”

The golems eyebrows rose in mock surprise. “Has it chosen to monitor my every moment? Does it not have more important things to do with its time?”

He was too tipsy to play the diplomat. “Stop murdering their bloody chickens. You’re pissing off the locals and probably scaring them, to boot.”

“Am I? How delightful. I had no intention of wreaking more havoc on Redcliffe’s poultry this evening, but it has made the prospect more appealing. I may have to reconsider.”

Alistair sighed. “Shale—”

“What were you doing then?” Leliana interjected.

“So now it is the sister’s turn to interrogate me. Or perhaps to lecture me about the Maker, or some other meaningless drivel?”

Of all his companions, Leliana seemed the most unperturbed by Shale’s insults. She merely shook her head. “I was only curious. It must be terribly dull when the rest of us are sleeping. I’m sure you must get bored at night when no one is about.”

“It does indeed, though I suspect you two will do little sleeping tonight. In my experience, you seem to sleep a lot less when your warden masters are present.”

 _Warden masters?_ Alistair eyes went wide. “They’re back?! Why didn’t you say so?”

“I would have told it if it hadn’t insisted on making unfounded accusations.”

“They’re not unfounded!” Alistair yelled over his shoulder, as he broke into a run down the path that ran through the center of the courtyard. If Shale replied, he missed it, though he could hear Leliana’s footsteps as she came running after him.

“They’re really back? You can tell?” Leliana asked breathlessly as she drew even with him on the stairs.

He felt the telltale buzzing of his warden senses on the back of his neck—it had been there, underneath the drink and his consternation, for who knows how long. “Yes! I think they’re in the great hall. Come on!”

As he raced through the gates and down the hallways leading to Elissa, his drunkenness was all but forgotten as his desire to lay eyes (and hands) on her took over. All his questions and worries could wait…

They burst through the open doors to find Teagan and Wynne standing next to Solona and Elissa in the center of the hall. The group turned as one to look at them.

He didn’t slow when he came into the room. “Alistair, wait,” he heard someone say, but the words held no meaning to him. His senses were trained on only one person: Elissa. She was standing there dressed in her grey warden uniform, looking a bit dusty and disheveled from the road—her hair hung in a messy braid over her shoulder. Her expression was unreadable—perhaps she was unsure how he would receive her, after leaving the way she did.

He didn’t care any longer—that quarrel and hurt was in the past, and now she had returned to him, whole and _alive._ He hesitated only a moment when he stood before her, before pulling her to him in a tight embrace and burying his face in the scent of her blond hair.

And then he was doubling over in pain, reeling from an unexpected blow to his abdomen. Another blow landed on the back of his neck and he stumbled to his hands and knees.

 _What in the void?_ He looked up, still not comprehending what had happened. Elissa stood scowling down at him. _Wait_. She’d attacked him? “’Lis?”

Solona materialized between them, and she gently pushed Elissa backward. “Easy, Elissa. This is Alistair. Remember? I told you about him.”

 _What?_ He was still on all fours, too dumb stuck to get off the floor. _Why is she staring at me like that?_

As if she’d heard his thoughts, Solona turned toward him, giving him an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, Alistair. I tried to warn you… but…”

Teagan bent to offer Alistair a hand. Blinking dumbly, he took it and as he rose to his feet that sinking feeling of dread returned, magnified tenfold. “But what?”

Solona looked at Elissa, as if to see if she wanted to answer, but she remained silent, arms crossed at her chest and brows furrowed together. She sighed. “I’m sorry. I… don’t know how to tell you this but while we were gone… something happened to Elissa.”

“What happened?”

“It’s a long story but…” Solona looked from Elissa back to Alistair yet again, before her shoulders slumped. “She doesn’t remember you. She doesn’t remember anyone. She’s lost all her memories.”

Someone gasped, but no one spoke for the span of several heartbeats. And then, everyone started talking at once.

Alistair didn’t listen to them. His head buzzed from the onslaught to his Warden senses after weeks without Solona and Elissa around, but it was his dawning comprehension that made him truly dumbfounded.

There was no point in denying it. It was clear from the way Elissa looked at him. She had no idea who he was.

He’d lost her after all.


	70. Clarity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair struggles to deal with Elissa's return and memory loss.

_The dwarven city is more magnificent and impressive than any sketch could ever convey. The enormity of every statue and building struck me as a sort of defiant contrariness. Whereas I would have expected a city that catered to a shorter citizen to have somewhat smaller proportions than a human city, it seems the halls of Orzammar were carved for giants._

_But that is how they perceive themselves, I think. How else to explain their form of ancestor worship? Nothing is so divine as a dead dwarf, to another dwarf, apparently._

_(Alistair would not want me saying that out loud, I'll bet.)_

_An open market lies in the flat expanse that abuts the enormous city gates. We arrived to find those gates closed—the city is in the grips of a succession crisis, with no king currently sitting on the throne. A group of men who turned out to be Loghain's soldiers also attempted entry and were denied. It was perversely pleasing when the guard controlling entry permitted my party to pass. This enraged the soldiers; we made quick work of them._

_I suppose I should feel more pity about that. But they were Loghain's men—Loghain, who allies with Howe, and who has betrayed us and assaulted us at every turn. He's still sending men after us. We confronted and slew a group of bounty hunters before Orzammar._

_He is my enemy, as are those who align themselves with him. I have no room in my heart for pity._

* * *

Everyone started speaking at once.

"You're alright, yes?" Leliana asked Solona, putting a hand on her shoulder.

"Can you truly remember nothing, child?" Wynne said to Elissa.

"How long ago did this happen?" someone else asked.

"What happened with Flemeth?"

"Did you hit your head? Did she hit her head?"

"Is there nothing we can do?"

"Have you had any other symptoms? Difficulty walking? Talking?"

"So who is in charge now?"

"Does she know about the Blight? About Loghain? About  _Howe_?"

"What about her family?  _Oh, Maker,_  we need to tell her about her family…"

"Have you tried healing her?"

"And her blood, don't forget that."

"Enough!" The room fell silent and everyone looked expectantly at Elissa. She pointed at Solona. "You brought me here telling me all sorts of fanciful stories, but you've offered me no evidence that anything you say is true. How am I to know that I am really this 'Elissa' person? Or that you are who you say you are? Until I establish that your stories are true, I'll be the one asking the questions."

A moment of surprised silence passed.

"Right, so… there's that whole issue," Solona said in a tired voice. "She doesn't think I'm telling the truth."

"But why would we lie?" Leliana asked.

Elissa narrowed her eyes in response. "That's what I'll find out."

"There must be some way we can prove to you that we are who we say we are," said Teagan.

"And that she is who we say she is," added Wynne.

Alistair remembered the scroll he kept in his vest pocket. "I have an idea. We need something for her to write with."

Teagan snapped his fingers at one of the guards stationed at the hall's entrance, and a few moments later a few servants appeared with a sheaf of paper, a quill and inkwell along with a small table on which Elissa could write. They set the items down in front of her and then scuttled away.

Elissa narrowed her eyes. "You wish to prove my identity through handwriting."

It was the first time she'd actually addressed Alistair since he'd entered the room. The open suspicion in her gaze made his mouth go dry. "That's right. I have a note that you wrote me before you left. We can compare the two."

She took a deep breath before picking up the quill and dipping it in the ink.  _This is a handwriting test to determine my identity,_ she wrote, before replacing the quill and looking up expectantly.

Alistair pulled the note out of his vest pocket and unrolled it, looking it over again before placing it on the small table. He felt oddly relieved. The handwriting matched.

_Of course the writing matches, because we're telling the truth, aren't we?_

Everyone started to crowd around the table until Elissa shot them a withering glare. After they backed up, she bent her head to study the two notes. "The handwriting appears similar," she murmured, and then her frown deepened and she looked up at him with narrowed eyes.

 _Oh, right._ He hadn't thought about the postscript Elissa had added about their last "quarrel" until this moment. Hoping his face didn't reveal his embarrassment, he tried to snatch the letter back. Elissa was faster than he, however, and was able to pluck the note from the table a second before it was in his hand.

"Er…, that's fine. You can keep it," he said in an almost incomprehensible rush.

Elissa stared at him, her expression masked.

"Right, so we're telling the truth," Solona said wearily. "This proves it."

At last, Elissa tore her gaze away from his. "It doesn't prove anything. At least, not everything. All it proves is that you do know me… or at least, you know my handwriting."

Solona gave out a frustrated huff of breath. "Oh for fuck's sake, Elissa! I'm not lying. And I need a bath and some food and a good…" she trailed off and then tilted her head at Leliana. "Coming?"

Elissa's gaze flitted to Alistair and then quickly away. "You're going to leave me alone with a group of s-strangers?"

Alistair winced.  _Ouch._

"They're not strangers. They're your best friends. Whether you believe me or not. You're perfectly safe."

"I would feel much more comfortable—"

The clatter of claws on stone gave them all a few seconds of warning before Prince burst through the doors, running directly at Elissa. Her eyes went round only a moment before he tackled her, knocking her to the ground.

She screamed when she fell, but Prince's authentic exuberance and joy were obvious. "Alright," she said, as she held up her arms to stave off his 'attack.' " _Alright."_ She tried pushing him backward, but Prince was built of muscle and stubbornness, and would not desist. He pinned her down and continued to sniff and lick her face. "Can someone help me?"

"Er… you're really the only one he listens to," Alistair said.

"Oh for  _Maker's…_ what's it's name?"

"Prince," a bunch of them said in unison.

"Alright,  _Prince, move back,_ " she commanded. At last the dog obliged and she was able to return to her feet, red-faced and out of breath. She wiped the drool off her face with her sleeve.

"See?" Solona gestured at Prince. "He won't let anything happen to you. You're fine."

Elissa looked at the dog appraisingly. "Hmm. Mabari's are known for their loyalty and cleverness."

Leliana frowned. "How do you know? I thought you couldn't remember anything?"

"I… I seem to have retained some knowledge of the world. But nothing specific about myself."

Everyone looked at each other in silence until Teagan cleared his throat. "If it helps, I believe I may have kept a few of the letters you've written me over the years. I could show you those as well… but first, perhaps you'd like to see your room? Isolde has set aside some clothes for you, and I'm sure you'd appreciate a hot meal…"

Elissa rested a hand on Prince's head as she regarded Teagan silently.

He drew himself up to his full height, and placed a hand on his chest. "Forgive me, I am Teagan Guerrin, Bann of Rainesfaire, and younger brother to the Arl of Reddcliffe. I apologize on my brother's behalf for him not being here to greet you. He is still recovering from a recent illness, and shouldn't be disturbed at this hour. But as his acting host, let me assure you that you are safe in these walls. Our families have been friends for decades, and while you may not remember me, I consider you a dear friend. You have nothing to fear here, Lady Elissa, I promise you."

Teagan's effortless gallantry goaded him. "Of course she doesn't," Alistair snapped. He turned to Wynne. "She shouldn't sleep, right? Not if there's a head injury—"

"I don't think it's a head injury," Solona said.

Wynne shook her head. "Sleep is good for the mind. Rest might be the best thing—" Wynne finally caught Alistair's expression. "But… Alistair's right. I should examine you. If it is an undetected head injury, perhaps I can heal it, and you'll get your memories back."

She recoiled at Wynne's offer. "No, I won't let you… I mean, no, that is not required,  _mage_."

"Please, this is for your own good," Alistair pleaded. "I… you have to let her at least try to help you."

Elissa might not know Alistair anymore, but the look she had in her eyes was all too familiar to him. She wasn't budging. "Are you coercing me into this examination?"

"What? No, I'm not! I just think if we can get your memories back now, why wait?"

"Because it's not going to work!" The group fell silent as they turned to look at Solona. She rubbed her forehead. "Alistair, just… just let her go and we can talk, ok?"

He looked around helplessly, before his shoulders drooped in resignation. "Fine. That's fine… of course you're free to go wherever, Elissa."

Elissa turned to Teagan. "Assuming these letters exist… then they are evidence that our relationship is the oldest one present. Is that correct?"

Teagan nodded. "I have known you the longest, that's true."

"Having no other basis on which to base my decision, I'll… choose to trust you."

Teagan looked around with an apologetic expression, before he gestured toward the door. "This way."

They watched in silence as Teagan, Elissa, and Prince left through the doors that led to the castle's guest wing, where they all had rooms.

"Thank the fucking Maker," Solona said when they were out of earshot.

Alistair glared at her. "So start talking. What happened to her? What happened with Flemeth? You have a lot of explaining to do."

She raised her hands. "We killed Flemeth and I…" She rubbed a hand over face. "Look you can grill me all you want—just let me get some food and a bath, alright? I haven't slept in days and I'm starving… and I've been dealing with  _that…"_ She nodded at the doors where Teagan and Elissa had exited. "For the better part of a week. Just… give me a break, would you?"

Leliana placed a protective arm over Solona's shoulders, and frowned at Alistair. "Of course, Alistair understands that. It's late. We can speak more in the morning."

" _What_? You expect me to wait until morning for some answers!?"

"No, she doesn't. It's fine, Leliana. I'll tell you everything Alistair, just give me a half hour."

As the others filed out, leaving him alone in the brightly lit Great Hall, Alistair caught a glimpse of something black and feathered disappearing through one of the side doors. Narrowing his eyes, he growled. " _Morrigan_."

He made it to the door in a few long strides. Morrigan still lingered just outside, her head bent over a heavy tome. She looked up in surprise when he caught up to her, and he could sense that she was gathering the magical energy required to shape shift.

"Oh, no you don't," he snarled, reaching out with his own power to cast a silencing effect that enveloped her, interrupting her transformation and knocking her to the floor.

She glared up at him. "How dare you."

He ignored the way guilt twisted in his chest. "Don't you 'how dare you' me! You were listening. You heard what's happened to Elissa. This is your fault."

Morrigan rose, brushing herself off. "'tis not my fault. I had nothing to do with this."

"You're the one that sent them off to Flemeth… what was that all about? Was this a trap you set up? What are you playing at?"

"You think 'twas I who cursed Elissa's memories? To what purpose?"

"I… I don't know. Some evil,  _witchy_  purpose."

"If this is my plan, 'tis a rather poor one. Why would I remain to be interrogated?"

"I… I don't know. But you can start by telling me why you wanted to kill your own mother."

She went still as she regarded him. For a moment Alistair was convinced she would refuse to answer. At last, she shrugged one befeathered shoulder. "Because she wanted to possess me."

"How do you know?"

Morrigan explained that from a book Elissa had found in the Circle Tower, she'd learned how Flemeth prolonged her life —by raising a daughter skilled in magic and then possessing her at a certain age.

When she finished, Alistair felt sick to his stomach. As far as reasons for matricide go, that seemed a decent one. "So what do you think happened? Did Flemeth do this to Elissa, somehow? Post death?"

Morrigan shook her head. "If 'twere I, I'd look no further than the mage with rare dreamer powers for the most likely culprit."

Alistair guffawed. "Solona? Why on earth would she do that?"

"Perhaps Elissa learned something she shouldn't have."

"That's…" He didn't know what that was. Crazy, possibly. Disquieting, to be sure. He fell silent, glancing in the direction of the guest wing, where the others had gone.  _That can't be the case…_

"If you're done accosting me, am I free to go?"

He stared in silence at Morrigan's sneering face for a few seconds, before giving her an absentminded wave. She huffed indignantly, but he ignored her. Exhaustion tugged at his body, and with nothing else to do he made his way upstairs to the guest wing to wait for Solona.

He knocked on her door exactly one half hour later. She looked better—cleaner, certainly, but she still had dark circles under her eyes. She stepped aside and he entered. Leliana and Wynne were already there, sitting around the fire. He joined them, and then turned to Solona. "So, what happened? What caused this?"

Solona took a deep breath. "Flemeth, as near as I can tell."

"Oh dear," said Wynne.

"Our plan was for a stealth kill—Elissa figured that was a better prospect than a direct confrontation. Given our abilities, we figured it'd be a simple enough task to slip into her home in the middle of the night and off her while she was sleeping."

"Was it all so easy then?" Wynne asked.

Solona looked off into the distance, her eyes unfocused. "It sort of was," she said softly. "I thought we were quiet, but… Flemeth woke up just as Elissa was poised to strike. Her eyes flew open, and then… the room filled with this bright white light… I have no idea what the old lady was about to cast but it felt like nothing I'd ever been taught. It… it didn't seem like all that power could be coming from one person, you know? I about pissed myself. I figured we were goners at that, but… When I opened my eyes…" She picked at a thread trailing from the sleeve of her robes. "Flemeth was on the floor with her throat slit, and Elissa was right next to her, unconscious. I… I couldn't wake her for a long time. And when she  _did_  wake up, well… she wasn't happy to not know who the fuck she was, as you could see."

"How strange," Leliana murmured.

"Yeah," Alistair said, remembering his conversation with Morrigan. "So we're supposed to believe you basically saw absolutely nothing?"

"Alistair!" Leliana chastised.

Solona didn't look angry. Just resigned. "You can believe whatever you want. I'm sorry I didn't see more."

The tired note in her tone made his anger dissipate. "Sorry, it's just… this doesn't help us. We still have no idea what happened."

"Well, I'm pretty sure she didn't hit her fucking head, so I think that's helpful. Elissa wakes up without her memories after tangling with… whatever the fuck Flemeth is? It's not a fucking concussion. Flemeth did something."

"Perhaps," Wynne said, "Or perhaps Flemeth's spell had enough force to it that it caused trauma to Elissa's brain." When Solona rolled her eyes, she shrugged. "Regardless, we won't know more until we can get Elissa to let us examine her. We've got to get her to trust us so that she'll agree."

"Or we can just knock her out with a sleep spell," Solona muttered.

"And if Wynne can't heal her? Then she'll never trust us again," Leliana said. "No, Wynne is right. We need to give her some time and build some trust with her."

As much as Alistair wanted to come up with a better plan, he couldn't think of one. He took his leave and made his way back to his room, pausing at one door when the thrum of his warden senses came alive. This had to be the room Teagan had offered to Elissa.

He stood there staring at the heavy oak planks for several minutes, unsure what he would even say if he gathered up the courage to knock. Feeling hopeless, he shook his head and moved on to his own room, where he collapsed into his bed after changing out of his clothes.

Before falling into a fitful sleep, he gave a brief prayer that tomorrow, things would be clearer.

Clarity didn't magically descend upon waking, nor did it materialize at breakfast. His companions took their meals in a small dining room connected to the kitchens on the first floor, with people coming and going as they woke. It was a relaxed affair, normally, but this morning felt different. Elissa was notably absent, which afforded them ample opportunity to talk about her.

Solona repeated her story to Oghren, only with more flair. When she finished, Oghren chuckled. "Didn't see that coming." He turned to Alistair. "Has anyone told her about you two and your tent time yet?"

Alistair choked on his mouthful of food. While he was sputtering, Teagan entered the room, sparing him from having to respond. "Morning, friends."

They murmured their greetings while Alistair gulped down some water.

"Is Elissa… alright? Is she still sleeping?" Wynne asked.

"On the contrary, she's been up for several hours. She elected to break her fast with Isolde and Connor this morning."

"Seriously?" Alistair couldn't keep the incredulity out of his tone. "I mean, uh… that's fine."

Teagan ignored his fluster. "I am actually here at Lady Elissa's request. She's asked me to retrieve Morrigan. She has some questions she would like to ask…but I don't see her. She… doesn't spend much time in the castle, does she?"

"I can find her," Solona said, scooting back her chair. "I'm done eating, anyway…"

Teagan raised his hands. "Actually, no—don't trouble yourself. I have instructions that if Morrigan isn't present, I should summon Leliana, instead."

Leliana's eyebrows rose. "Oh? Very well."

"Good luck," Solona called after her as she left with Teagan.

"I wonder what Elissa is up to?" Wynne said as soon as they were out of earshot.

"She's going to want to interrogate everybody," Solona said wearily. "Until she can figure out who is telling the truth."

Alistair frowned. "You thinks she still suspects us?"

"Of course. She's hoping to discover holes in our stories. I'm surprised she didn't insist on keeping us all separated, though she probably figures we've already had plenty of time to come up with a common narrative."

His plate still had a good pile of food on it, but his appetite had evaporated. Still, he waited for what felt like an eternity for Leliana to return. The others lingered as well, as if it were an unspoken rule that they should not leave.

Finally, Leliana walked through the door. "Wynne, Elissa would like to speak with you," she said, as she sat down again next to Solona.

Wynne raised her eyebrows, looked around at them and then left the room.

"How was it?" Alistair asked. "What did she ask you?"

"She asked… about everything. About who I am and why I am here… about everything that has transpired since we started traveling together."

"Does she still think we're lying?"

Leliana cocked her head to the side. "I'm not sure. I expect she will question everyone to see if our stories match. I believe that is her aim. Oh, and she has Teagan with her, who she looks to for confirmation of any facts she thinks he might know." Leliana rubbed her temple. "I'm surprised she hasn't separated us and forbidden us from speaking to each other."

"See?" Solona said with a smirk.

Most of the others had left by the time Wynne returned. Only he and Solona remained. He looked up hopefully when Wynne entered, but she nodded at Solona. "She'd like to speak with you my dear."

Wynne sat next to him as Solona left the room. "She is still unwilling to cooperate with an examination," she said. When Alistair slumped in his chair, she added, "Patience, dear."

Alistair let out a noisy breath and got to his feet. His patience was in short supply. "I'll be… around… if she wants to speak to me," he said before taking his leave.

He was tired of waiting to be summoned only to be passed over. Elissa likely did not want to see him anytime soon after reading that note. He supposed that was understandable, but he needed to do something else to keep from driving himself crazy as she set about speaking with everyone but him.

So he went about his business and tried not to think. When night fell without a summons, he told himself, perhaps tomorrow.

Tomorrow, it turns out, was very similar to yesterday. Again, Elissa cloistered herself off from the rest of them, spending all her time in Isolde's rooms of the castle, and periodically interviewing all of their companions save him. She interviewed some of them repeatedly.

Waiting around for Elissa to summon him was driving him mad, and it was getting more difficult to avoid Eamon, who kept insisting that they needed to leave for Denerim immediately. So he ventured into the village for the day, visiting the shops and checking in with the Mayor to see if they needed anything.

When he started back down the path that led toward the castle, the shadows were growing deep. As the castle grew nearer Alistair's worries returned, along with the faint hope that perhaps Elissa had finally summoned him while he was out, and he'd return to find her willing and waiting to talk to him.  _It's possible._

"I trust everything is well, my friend?"

The voice made his whole body jerk in surprise. Zevran had materialized, somehow sidling right up to him without Alistair noticing.  _Bloody rogues._  "You're back! Did you find the messenger?"

"Indeed. The Denerim Chantry will now be informed that they are running criminally short on Chantry wine," he said with a mischievous grin.

Alistair's smile was weak in return. "Nice work."

"What is it?"

"Right. You haven't heard. Elissa and Solona are back."

Zevran's face didn't betray any emotion, but he stopped walking. "Is she—are they well?"

"No. She isn't."

He told Zevran everything—how Elissa's memories were gone and how Solona suspected Flemeth's magic, but that Wynne still held out suspicion that it was some kind of head trauma.

"And what do you think?"

"I… I don't know what to think. If Wynne's right, then healing her might bring her memories back. But if Solona's right…"  _Or if Solona is the culprit,_ he thought, but didn't say. "Either way, we won't know more until she consents to Wynne examining her."

"Where is she now?"

"Guess."

Zevran's eyebrows rose at Alistair's bitter tone. He cocked his head to the side. "Avoiding you?"

That wasn't exactly what he was going for, but it was still true. "Pretty much."

He explained about how Elissa didn't trust anyone but Teagan now, and had set up in Isolde's wing, summoning each of them in turn to be interrogated about their history. "She's interviewing everyone multiple times to get their stories straight."  _Everyone but me…_

Zevran raised an eyebrow. "So, it seems we have yet to convince her that we're telling the truth."

"I'm not even sure it is about that anymore, to be honest."

"No?"

Alistair shook his head. "She had to have figured out by now that we are who we say we are. She's suspicious but she's far from stupid. No, now she's just… fishing."

"For what?"

"For secrets," Alistair answered without hesitation, because of course that was what Elissa was doing. "She has to hate being at such a disadvantage—all of us know more about everything that she does. But if she can turn this disadvantage into an advantage, she will."

"That's… insightful of you," Zevran murmured, before adding wryly. "For all the good it's done you."

"Yeah, well…" He trailed off, looking up at the castle with a thoughtful frown.  _It's done me no good at all,_ he thought, at first, but then his eyes widened with realization.  _How could I be so stupid?_ "I'm an imbecile."

Zevran smirked. "I don't disagree, but what makes you say that?"

"I… never mind, I've got to go. Sorry, welcome back!" he called over his shoulder as he broke into a run toward the castle.

He made his way to Isolde's wing, and then used his warden senses to figure out exactly the room in which Elissa was working. He found it easily enough, knocked on the door and then entered without waiting for a response.

"Elissa, I…" The words died in his mouth when he laid eyes on her. He hadn't seen her since that first night, and he'd never seen her like this.

Her hair was swept up into a more elaborate style than the simple braided crown she usually wore. It was a mass of blond braids and curls, with a few strands artfully fallen over her forehead, framing her face. Her lips seemed unnaturally red until he realized that she was also sporting makeup… another first. The dress was made from a luxurious yellow silk, with golden brocade details on its form fitting waist. The skirt was voluminous, and made a swishing sound as Elissa whirled to face him when he entered.

She and Teagan were standing behind the desk, in the midst of some conversation that he'd interrupted.

"Alistair," Teagan said, "Is something wrong? We didn't summon you…"

For a moment, Alistair's confidence wavered. Was this Isolde's influence, or did Elissa's change of appearance represent a more substantial shift in her personality than he'd anticipated?

But it was too late to second guess himself. "No, but you should have," he said, trying to project a confident air. He looked only at Elissa as he spoke. "I understand why you've chosen Teagan as your confidant, but respectfully, that should be me."

The hair and the costume might be different, but Elissa's face was utterly familiar. Her expression was one of frank appraisal. If he'd known her less, he might've been intimidated. But she was Elissa, still, wasn't she? He knew her—better than anyone.

"I know what it is you want—what you need. You need someone you can trust implicitly—someone who will give you the whole, unvarnished truth. Teagan's a good man—I've known him my whole life. But he doesn't know you. Not like I do."

Elissa still said nothing, but turned to face Teagan with an eyebrow raised. Teagan smiled and bent his head slightly. "He is telling the truth, my lady. Alistair is a good man—kind and honest, and you two… have had a firm partnership since you've met, I believe. You can trust him."

Her expression didn't change. Still saying nothing, she regarded him silently with shrewd green eyes.

He plunged ahead, taking another step into the room. "Teagan is a good man as well, Elissa, but he can't tell you what I can. There are things about the Wardens that I must tell you. Things no one else knows."

That was all he had.  _Please work._

She didn't speak for a long, heavy moment, until her eyes closed and she took a deep breath, before turning to Teagan and nodding.

Alistair would have liked to whoop with joy, but merely clenched his fists at his side and smiled as Teagan left the room.

And then it was just the two of them.

She didn't look at him as she pulled out a chair and sat down at the desk. It was then that Alistair noticed the sheafs of paper littering its surface—her notes, from the interviews she'd already given, he guessed. She picked up the quill, dipped it in the inkwell and then held it poised to write on a blank page. "Name?"

Alistair's lips quirked but he managed not to smile as he took his seat. He'd expected Elissa to open with a whopper of a question, but she was clearly trying a different tactic with these interviews, by asking questions that she already knew the answers to. "Alistair," he said, and when she paused and looked up at him, he added, "Theirin. I'm the bastard son of King Maric and a serving woman from Redcliffe castle."

Her lips parted and she hesitated before writing it down, not looking at him.

That was tell enough. He'd managed to surprise her, if not with the content (which he assumed she'd sussed out by now), then by his willingness to relate it.

She wrote for a few moments, while Alistair resisted the urge to lean forward to try to decipher her notes. He knew better. It wasn't just his answers that mattered now—he had to exude certainty.

At last she finished writing, and looked up him, eyes narrowing slightly.

_Here it comes._

She set down her quill and then steepled her fingers together. "So, tell me," she said. "What are these Warden secrets you have to tell me?"

He took a deep breath, and began to talk.


	71. Implications

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair is questioned about his relationship with Elissa; Elissa's journal entries reveal more about what happened prior to coming to Redcliffe.

_The Anvil of the Void… I'll never be certain that we did the right thing with that wondrous invention, but it is perhaps secondary to learning that which I have suspected for a long time: that Alistair is more than capable of leading. The fact that he confirmed it by defying me is concrete proof that he can make the bold and difficult decisions required to be a successful ruler of men._

_Oh, but what might have been! I wanted the anvil for my own purposes, of course. Who knows what may have been possible with such a powerful construct?_

_And again… souls. Before I became a Warden I wasn't even sure that souls existed and now… they seem to be more important than I'd ever imagined._

_I can't help but wonder what new methods I might have invented with access to Branka's creation…_

_But it does not matter now. Alistair made his choice, and it is likely the correct one, politically speaking. He will have to become a deft politician in his new role…_

_We should reach the Legion's camp soon. Our stops are short as everyone is eager to quit the Deep Roads. All that remains is to convince the Aeducan heir to take the crown. I can't foresee a reason for his refusal. He must want revenge after being cast out into the Deep Roads by his traitorous brother._

_Solona has been pleading with me to recruit one of the Legion to our cause. "They are already dead—to everyone else and in their own minds, Elissa," she hisses at me whenever the subject comes up. I believe my reluctance has exasperated her. But I find my resolve dwindling, and my hope that one of their member will step forward and accept this burden…_

_But, it is foolhardy to raise my hopes. If none shall step forward, that'll be the end of it. I'll not coerce someone into drinking from the cup. As I told Solona, how can we trust someone who we forced to become a Warden? But a volunteer…_

_Still, best not to dwell on it. It may all come to naught._

* * *

Elissa finished writing, set down her quill, and began reading from her notes. "So we've covered the Joining recipes and risks, darkspawn reproduction methods, ghouls, immunity to blight sickness, ability to sense darkspawn and other wardens, intense nightmares, intense hunger, increased stamina, and shortened lifespan." She looked up from her notes to peer at him. "So far nothing you have said is anything about which Solona hasn't already informed me."

"Right. Well, there's another thing." Alistair shifted in the high-back cushioned chair. He'd been sitting for some time, but it hadn't felt uncomfotable until now. "Decreased fertility."

Elissa folded her hands atop the large, mahogany desk. "Of both sexes?"

"Yes."

That, at least, surprised her. She stared at him for the span of a few heartbeats. "Is this common knowledge?"

"No, not really. I mean, everybody knew it back before… uh, before Ostagar. But I don't think the public has any idea. I wasn't sure if Solona knew but… I guess not."

"I see. The fact that you've provided me with this sensitive information speaks to how much you must trust Elissa."

He'd taken that fact to be, to use one of Elissa's favorite words,  _obvious._ It made him wonder what the others had said about him. But, that was silly. Elissa wouldn't take anyone's word for anything. She'd want to observe him herself. "Yes," he said, clearing his throat and meeting her gaze. "Of course."

He could detect the calculations going on behind her eyes. "Well, you needn't worry. I won't tell anyone."

She hadn't stopped studying him, and he was acutely aware that his minute movements and expression were under constant examination. He took a breath, before answering, proud of how steady his tone remained. "Thank you."

He was doing well—he could read that much in her face. There was a hint of admiration for his confident answers, and her approval filled him with a familiar pleasure. How he'd missed that warmth in her absence.

"So," she said, and the look in her eye brought his wariness back. "I imagine this fact has… implications… for the future of your romance with Elissa."

He wasn't a bit surprised that she'd figured out (or someone had told her) the nature of their relationship, of course, but her matter-of-fact delivery of the crux of their issues was a bit jarring. "Yes," he said simply.

"Let me guess…" Her eyes scanned the desk until she plucked a scroll from a pile of papers. She unrolled it, and tilted it toward the lantern sitting on the desk so she could read from it. She looked up at him, eyebrows raised. "This issue forms the basis for the 'quarrel' referenced in this note?"

So they were really talking about this?  _Great._ He figured it would come up, of course, but… he didn't exactly know what to say. "Yes."

The contrast of his short answers with the lengthy and candid ones he'd provided previously no doubt tipped her off that there was something substantial going on here. Her eyes narrowed. "And you didn't tell Elissa about this until recently."

He knew he should probably elaborate, but why bother? She had made the connections, or was just about to. "Yes."

"Interesting that she says in the note that  _she_  was the one in the wrong, and not you." She looked away, clearly thinking.

The shadows cast by the flickering torchlight made strange patterns on the walls. He stared at them in silence, wishing he could think of a way to distract her from this line of questioning, but knowing it was futile.

"She knew already didn't she?"

It was impossible not to think of Elissa's face, horrified and angry.  _You knew?_ "Yes."

Elissa made a humming noise, and drummed her fingers on the desk, seemingly unaware of the emotional state her questions had put him in. "Let me guess, an interruption in her menses would have triggered an examination, probably by Wynne."

"I… yeah, probably."

She pushed away from the desk and stood, pacing toward the bookshelves that lined the wall behind the desk. Clasping her hands behind her back, she addressed the books in a thoughtful tone. "So, she found out she couldn't have children, but since you'd never told her otherwise, she didn't realize all Wardens are affected, and not just herself. What would make her think it was just her?"

Alistair could have answered, of course, but he decided right then that he wouldn't deny her this. If he couldn't provide her an ample explanation, the next best thing would be to let her deduce one herself, instead.

She turned to him a moment later, face bright with the light of intuition. "It was after she took the potion from Avernus, wasn't it?  _That's_  why she thought it was only herself that was affected. A reasonable deduction, albeit an incorrect one." She shook her head, and walked back to the desk. "She might've learned the truth, if she'd been honest with you. But instead, she kept it secret."

His head snapped up at that. "What? No… I mean… I guess, but… that's not… I should have told her."

Elissa came around the desk to stand in front of him. She crossed her arms at her chest. "And she shouldn't have told you?"

"I mean… maybe. But, I knew and I kept it from her. I… I didn't mean to, really, I just… I could never seem to find the right time to bring it up."

"But now you've got all the Warden treaties, and Eamon wants you to take the throne, so your fertility is more important than ever, isn't it?"

Her rendition of his plight was breathless and excited. And her proximity was distracting. She was wearing perfume-another oddity. "Yes."

"She should have felt at least some relief then, that this wasn't her fault."

"I… I don't know."

"But instead, when you told Elissa this fact that she already knew, it inspired an argument after which she left you in the middle of the night to pursue this favor for Morrigan. Why do you think she was so upset?"

"Well," Alistair said, his throat feeling thick. He'd had a bit of time to obsess over this. "I think, you know… it was, um… painful. To acknowledge. Openly and all…"

"Perhaps…" Elissa interrupted, staring with an unfocused gaze at something over his head. "Perhaps she'd never intended for you to find out, and once she discovered that you already knew, she realized how unlikely it would be that you would make her your Queen once you ascended the throne."

"No, I don't think… she never… I wouldn't…" He gave a noisy sigh, annoyed with himself for not offering a better defense of Elissa. To Elissa. That made his head hurt. "You know, it's  _you_ , not  _her_. You're not a different person, even if you can't remember it. You're still Elissa."

Elissa frowned and looked away. "So everyone keeps telling me."

She didn't deny it anymore, at least. "Well, it's the truth."

"You loved her."

It might not have been phrased as a question, but Alistair heard the query in her voice, part curious, part… something else. Another moment passed, and in spite of his best efforts, he couldn't hide the longing in his voice. "Yes."

Whatever other emotion at war with her curiosity had fled the field. She turned back to him, and it stung to see how she studied him. He felt like a butterfly in a case, pinned by her gaze. "Do you still?"

He didn't break eye contact, and made no attempt to mask his emotions as he gazed into her wide, perceptive eyes. "Yes."

She looked at each of his eyes in turn, before saying softly, "And yet when I look at you… I only see a stranger. I feel absolutely nothing."

He couldn't keep from flinching at that, and looked away. Her tone had been one of scientific fascination. Neutral. Cold. For a moment, he wondered if she'd been playing him, but when he looked back at her, her expression looked guilty.

"I'm sorry. This… can't be easy for you, seeing me this way with all this unfinished business between you and her… myself. My questions must seem terribly insensitive."

Alistair blinked. He couldn't remember Elissa ever catching on to her insensitivity before. Perhaps, she wasn't exactly the same as she had been. "No, it's… fine. I mean, yes, it's a little awkward but… I'm just happy you're alive."

"Yes, in a manner of speaking."

"Come again?"

"Well," she began with an apologetic smile. "In a way, whoever destroyed Elissa's memories killed her. Her memories, her experiences… whoever this person Elissa was to you… she's gone now. Whether that was their intention or not."

He knew she was right on some level—wasn't he grieving something lost, anyway? Still, there was hope. "Only if you don't get them back," he said. "Which is why—"

"I should acquiesce to being examined by Wynne."

"Yes. Please. You know we're who we say we are, by now. Just let Wynne look at you."

She was back to studying him, and he hadn't the will left to try to mask his desperation. Whether that was the deciding factor, or some other reason, he wasn't sure, but he sighed audibly in relief when at last she gave a crisp nod. "Alright."

He got up to leave, and she returned to the other side of the desk. "Alistair… thank you for your candidness. It is appreciated."

The look she gave him soothed his injured heart a little. "Sure."

"One more thing before you go. Someone…" she looked through the papers until she found one. "Wynne, actually… mentioned that Elissa kept a journal. Did she leave it with you?"

"No, I think you took it with you."

"I found no journal in my possession. Don't you think that's rather suspicious?"

His relief vanished, replaced by a gnawing fear. He couldn't think of anything at all to say to that.

* * *

_I should have known better to let hope kindle inside of me. It was all for naught. I cannot escape this fate, and I am a fool to try._

_But I am ahead of myself. My emotions have taken over my thinking in many ways of late, not the least of which is my inability to put into words what has transpired. And yet, it seems important to record, if not for others, at least for myself. To make some sense of it..._

_As I stated in my last journal entry, we were all eager to quit the Deep Roads and return to Orzammar after confronting Branka and destroying the anvil. I'd learned another secret that I wish I could forget on our journey there—mainly that Darkspawn reproduce by a process that involves defiling and corrupting females of any intelligent race until they turn into enormous, monstrous creatures: Broodmothers. Branka knew this, and let her whole family be taken for this purpose, in spite of it. A cold one, she is. Or was. Her own lover, Hespith, was captured and turned into a ghoul…_

_Dwelling on this truth too long makes me nauseated. I cannot help but recall the hurlock who attempted to capture me back in the Korcari Wilds. No doubt it intended to deliver me to that same fate. I questioned Alistair about this after, but I feel certain he was ignorant of this phenomenon, and could not speak as to whether Duncan knew of such a thing. If such knowledge is widely known in the Grey Warden leadership, I must question the wisdom of recruiting female Wardens… unless perhaps our immunity would interfere with the process? In any case, it is not a fate I need fear any longer. I'll be dead long before a Calling summons me back to the Deep Road. Thank the Maker for small mercies._

_So it was with heavy hearts and troubled minds that we met up with the Legion again on our way back to the city. The Aeducan heir surprised me. He refused to accept the crown Caridan had carved for us. I still don't understand his reasoning—having the blessing of one of their most cherished paragons should have been all that would be required for him to assume the throne. But he looked at it as if it were a noose, rather than a lifeline. I don't understand why he'd rather die in the Deep Roads than return to his people, but I couldn't persuade him. "A topsider cannot return to me what was taken. I'll die with the Legion, as I promised."_

_It was an honorable enough position. And I suppose I'd be a hypocrite to criticize him for it. Yet, it put me in a foul mood, as I was not overly pleased with either of the alternatives I would now be forced to choose between. Harrowmont seems decent enough, but his adherence to tradition strikes me as myopic and backwards-thinking. Whereas Bhelen's ideas seem to have the betterment of his people in mind, his methods are that of a snake…_

_In any case, at the time there was another more pressing issue than that of royal succession. Solona brought me another dwarf who was eager to join the Wardens. When I asked him why, he had a colorful response. "My name meant shit before the Legion and it'll still mean shit after I die down here. This way. Who knows? Maybe I take out the big dragon and suddenly everyone likes the name Brosca."_

_Solona's eyes had practically bulged out of her head at that, and I knew what the look she shot me meant—all we'd have to do was recruit this dwarf, and we had someone else who could make the ultimate… well._

_Once again, I cursed the fact that Solona had managed to acquire such knowledge. It was better when I was the only one who knew, and when I could determine what would happen without input from anyone else. I'd already told Solona that the burden was mine, but she had refused to accept that, saying that if another solution presented itself we ought to take it. I agreed to pacify her. She had acquiesced to my demand to keep the matter secret, so it seemed scrupulous to bend a bit in return. But, I hadn't really intended to follow through with it, until now…_

_She was right. Brosca seemed a fine candidate, and a willing one, but something held me back, even then. I suppose a part of me felt that having accepted the burden already, it was dishonorable to attempt to slough it off onto someone else. I still feel that way, more than ever now, in fact…_

_But again, I am getting ahead of myself. "Our ritual of initiation is very dangerous," I told Brosca, looking him over. He seemed as stocky and muscled as most dwarves. "I estimate your chances of dying to be around forty percent."_

_He peered up at me with a thoughtful frown. "You topsiders… you have something called… seasons, right?"_

_I nodded._

" _Which one is it now?"_

" _Winter," I replied._

" _Which one is that?"_

" _The one with the snow."_

_His squarish face softened, and then he nodded to himself. "Good enough."_

_I wanted to come up with some objection, but in truth I had none I could reasonably make to a man facing death so nonchalantly. Very well, I told him, and allowed him to join our number. I informed him that he'd have to kill a darkspawn on our way to the surface as part of the initiation, though of course that hardly daunted him, as he'd killed droves of them already._

_So we made our way to the surface, with an additional companion rounding out our numbers. Alistair seemed overjoyed at the prospect of having another male companion around. I suppose it was a comfort to talk to a masculine person who wasn't always drunk, or silently glowering or… Zevran. Alistair and Faren hit it off straight away, and spent a good portion of our trip back chatting amiably._

_I did not want to explain the presence of a dead dwarf if the ritual ended in his death, so we postponed the Joining until after we quit the city. In retrospect, I'm not certain that was better or worse…_

_We returned to the Assembly with the crown, and I must admit I wavered until the last moment before deciding to choose Harrowmont. I know Solona and perhaps a few of the others disagreed, but I couldn't in good conscience hand the throne over to someone with so little integrity as Bhelen. Whether I made the right decision remains to be seen. It strains credulity that I—a topsider—was even tasked with making this choice. I did the best that I could._

_I find myself stalling… I've been sitting here with my quill poised above the page for some time, wondering how to go forward. But there's nothing to do but forge ahead._

_We left Orzammar in the morning, and walked most of the day before striking up camp that evening. We were still high in the mountains, of course, but we'd at least managed to find a spot with little snow and fresh water nearby. After we set up camp and had dinner as a group, the four of us—Alistair, Solona, myself and Faren—went off by ourselves to perform the Joining. The separation and secrecy have their place, I suppose, in impressing recruits with the seriousness of the occasion, and emphasizes that our secrets must remain so._

_I am being overly verbose in an attempt to delay writing the inevitable, aren't I?_

_I said the words for a second time… and for a second time, I watched as the recruit before me lifted up our makeshift Joining cup and drank… and fell over in a heap, unconscious, but alive._

_Oh, how relieved and overjoyed we all were. I was certain for some reason that he would not survive the Joining._

_Well, I was right about that, in a manner of speaking, but at that moment all seemed well. He'd passed out, as it seems we all do, and then slept soundly, soon to be awakened, we knew, with horridly realistic dreams of Darkspawn._

_It was late by the time we returned to camp. Alistair carried the sleeping dwarf, and set him down on a bedroll near the fire before we retired to our tent. I set no watch for the evening, as they had become unnecessary once the golem joined our numbers, but Solona volunteered to remain near Brosca while he slept, so that she might greet him and welcome him to his new life when he awoke._

_It was difficult to sleep after all that excitement. I was filled with joy and that most dangerous of emotions—hope. For the first time in months, I could see a future where before I could only see an endless dark… Of course, we were heading to Redcliffe next, and facing Eamon and the issue of our own nation's leadership held it's own set of questions that needed to be answered, but for once, it felt like a future I might live to see, rather than something I was building only for Alistair._

_I should have known better. I_ do  _know better. After I finally fell asleep wrapped in Alistair's arms, a scream shattered the illusions of the Fade and slapped me back into wakefulness. Alistair was up and moving by the time I realized it was Solona who had screamed. I followed him as quickly as I could after, grabbing my crossbow as I exited the tent. I didn't sense any Darkspawn, but I wouldn't have expected anyone to be able to catch our party unawares, as Shale was always watching while we slept. At first I wondered if the creature, still upset by my reluctance to destroy the anvil, had simply let our ambushers attack us without raising an alarm in a spiteful act of revenge._

_But as soon as I cleared the tent, I realized that the attack had not come from without… it had come from within. Solona lay on the ground with Brosca sitting on top of her, his meaty hands wrapped around her neck as she struggled to free herself. I was too stupefied by the shocking betrayal to act for a few moments. Alistair had no such hesitancy, however, and immediately leapt into action, slamming into the dwarf bodily and knocking him off Solona. As the two men rolled away from the fire, I regained my senses and ran to her. "What happened?"_

_Solona couldn't talk, and only answered me with coughing. I heard a sickening crunch, and looked up to see Alistair panting on the ground… it took me a few seconds to notice the blood spattered rock and Brosca's still form lying beside him, a darkening stain creeping into the dirt under his head. "You killed him?" I gasped._

_Alistair nodded. At my stricken expression, he explained, "He wasn't himself any longer. He was a ghoul."_

_My inspection of the body confirmed Alistair's pronouncement. Something had gone wrong with his Joining, we realized, and instead of waking as a Warden, he had turned into a monster._

" _Most ghouls aren't that aggressive," I'd said, and Solona and Alistair hadn't known what to say to that. I gulped, and said what I knew they both must have been thinking. "It's my blood in the Joining… it did something to him. Instead of just killing him it… turned him into that."_

_To their credit, neither Alistair or Solona tried to convince me this wasn't my fault. Alistair simply draped an arm around my shoulders and hugged me to him, while Solona continued to stare at the body of the dead dwarf._

" _That's it," I said. "We're not using my blood in the Joining ever again."_

" _That's fine," Alsitair murmured, but it wasn't his reaction I was anxious to see. I stared at Solona until she met my gaze. I could see when my point had been comprehended, and she nodded._

_I left it at that. Solona probably thinks she can still convince me to recruit someone else, using the conventional Joining recipe. I haven't told her yet that I won't, but… I won't. I… cannot quite explain this… certainty… but I know without knowing exactly how I know that… it is my duty alone to do what must be done to end this Blight._

_And there's nothing I can do that will change that._


End file.
